


Between Two Mysteries

by doc_boredom



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Hunters, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, and then bill is just bill, angel!stan, ghost!eddie, or IS HE?! -eyebrow waggle-, phoenix!mike, read and find out, vamp!bev, were!richie, witch!ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 102,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom
Summary: "So fleeting and young, with mythologies pulled from lack. I wake up repeatedly and belong to the black."Derry wasn't ever supposed to be special, the summer's unassuming and unsurprising with each passing year, but upon Bill Denborough's 21st birthday, something changes. There's a world parallel to our brimming with monsters, spilling over into the night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well! This is my first big attempt writing something outside of the Oneyplays fandom. IT has found a special place in my heart and I wanted to write a bit of horror, a bit of paranormal, and a whole lot of love. 
> 
> This fic is partially inspired by tozier-trouble and beep-beep-richie-trashmouth on tumblr, who made the monster au moodboards that first got me thinking about this crazy idea. I don't know you guys, but you got this ball rolling.
> 
> The mood of this fic can be easily set by listening to Mount Eerie's Clear Moon and Wind's Poem. Wind's Poem especially, given it's Twin Peaks inspired vibe, has had a particularly big influence on the overall mood of this fic. The title itself is from Wind's Poem and the lyrics come from Wind Speaks. Phil Elverum is a fucking musical genius and I highly suggest you listen to his work. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Oh God, anything but  _ this _ .

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!”

He groans and sinks down into his chair, cheeks flooding with color as the servers approach with a dessert that could, in it’s own right be described as a fire hazard. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BILL DENBROUGH! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.”

“M-M-Mom...” He manages out, cutting a glance across the table, horrified to see her with camera posed. “Mom!” 

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re twenty one.” She’s dabbing at her eyes with her free hand and her table napkin. “You really are all grown up now. Oh Billy, blow out the candles quick! Before they ruin the cake!”

He rolls his eyes and unslouches himself, leaning towards the cake. He’s moments away from blowing out the candles, from being done with all this nonsense when there’s an indignant squawk from across the table. “Bill!” 

“George.” He says, glancing up at his younger brother, unable to keep himself from smiling.

His little brother has his face propped up on top of his fists, elbows up on the table much to their mother’s chagrin. He’s got such a serious expression on his little face, eyebrows scrunched up and nose wrinkled. “You’re forgetting the most important part!”

“Georgie, it can wait. The cake!” She’s getting all kinds of worked up now, of course, leave it to their mother. “Zack, tell them.”

“Sharon, let George say his piece.”

“The wish, Billy. You  _ gotta _ make a wish.”

Ten years old and still starry eyed to this day. This was his last year, he had heard his parents say, of thinking Santa and the Tooth Fairy were real. No more of this nonsense, these fantasies. Bill loved it though, the way George would fall asleep in front of the Christmas tree each year, waiting for Santa, the way he would clean his teeth for the Tooth Fairy before placing them under his pillow. A dreamer, his little brother, and Bill would do anything to keep it that way forever if he could.

“A w-wish.” He says softly. Like it’s their own secret, the kind you whispered across a string and through a tin can as quiet as you could. 

“Make it good.” Georgie’s smiling then. 

He closes his eyes then and takes in a deep breath. What to wish for, he wondered. For a summer that was endless? To finally figure out what he wanted in life? For the confidence to tell his parents that he wanted to drop out and never go back to business school and to write and write until every word he had ever felt in his heart was finally on paper?

Make a wish, Bill.

_ To do something meaningful. _

He blows until there’s only one candle left. “T-T-this one’s f-fuh-for you Georgie.” He says, sliding the cake across the table.

“Me!”

“Y-yeah, you muh-make a wish Georgie.” 

“Well I already have the best brother in the world.” He says with an impish smile and that really gets their mother going then. He can hear the endeared whimper before she’s blubbering. “Mom!” George groans.

“Oh Sharon.” Their father sighs. The candle is still burning, nearly gone. Bill inclines his head some and George clamors up onto his knees, leaning across the table to blow out the final candle just like that.

“Wuh-what’d you w-wish for, Georgie?” Bill says but George is shaking his head, hair flying back and forth. Poor kid needed a haircut. 

“A secret.” He says and then he looks over at their mother, sighing a bit. “Can we cut this stinkin’ cake now, mom?”

“Oh. Oh yes!” She’s sitting up then, cutting into the cake and Bill can finally sit back and relax into his own chair, his fingers going to the half full beer sitting in front of him. “First piece for the birthday boy, of course.” 

“Mom. I-it’s not th-that b-buh-big of a deal. I’m just...I’m just tw-twuhn...twenty-one.” God, when he had ordered his beer she had just about had a meltdown, crying and bemoaning that her baby boy was long gone. 

“Twenty-one is a big deal, son.” George gets his piece next and he doesn’t waste a moment digging into it, feet swinging under the table. “Speaking of, I was thinking we could contact Jerry sometime next week and set you up with a job shadow over at his finance office.” Suddenly his cake doesn’t look that appealing. He grips his glass a bit more, shifting in his seat, doing his best not to look his father in the eye. “He’d even sign off as an internship, and you know how good that would look on your resume Bill.”

“Mm.” As non-commital of a noise he can manage. 

“Zack, it’s his birthday. No ‘business talk’ right now.” Sharon says, giving her husband a pointed look.

“I just think he should be considering it, Sharon. You’ve gotten all those general education classes out of the way and now it’s time to buckle down son.” He watches as his father shovels a piece of cake into his mouth and goes on, regardless of having a full mouth. “When I was your age-”

“Dinosaurs still roamed the Earth.”

It’s a dumb joke but Georgie punctuates it with the perfect eye roll and Bill’s pressing his lips together in an attempt to not laugh out loud. “And you climbed uphill both ways to school, right Dad?”

Their father harrumphs some and points the fork in Bill’s direction. “We’ll talk later.”

“G-grr-great.” He can’t help it then. He picks up his glass and throws back the rest of the beer, ignoring the acrid, hoppy taste of it, forcing it down. He needs to be buzzed, needs to be away from his goddamn parents. “C-can we box up the rest?” 

“Of course, Billy.” His mother touches the crown of his head like he’s Georgie’s age and he’s this close to losing it. “Did you have a good birthday then?” She asks as the waiter arrives, pressing the check into her hands. 

He looks over at George and his little brother crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue in response. “Y-yeah, it was p-pretty good.”

-

“Mom. Mom can I show Bill the new park?”

“It’s getting late…” 

“Please! It’s gonna stay light out for another hour.” He looks up at Bill. “We learned that in school.” He adds slyly.

“D-Did you now?” He grins down at his brother. “It’s n-not like I d-duh-don’t know how to get home, Mom.” 

“Oh…” She’s biting her nails then. “There’s just been all this  _ weirdness _ recently.”

“W-weirdness?” He had been away at college since fall of last year. Snowed in over Christmas and unable to come back until now. “What do you mean?”

“Crime… disappearances…” Sharon’s mumbling and Bill has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“M-mom, you g-guh-got to stop w-wuh-watch...” Pause, collect yourself Bill “...watching Fox News and 20/20 every n-nuh-night.”

“I tell her that all the time, Bill!” George pipes up. “But no one listens to the kid.”

“Just… try and be home before dark.” Their dad honks the car horn a few times. “And call! Call me!”

“B-bye mom!” He says a bit forcefully. “W-wuh-we’ll be home l-later.”

Finally, finally she leaves, leaving the two of them alone in the parking lot. “So, w-where’s this new park?”

George is grinning in the sunset then. “Remember the old park near the school?” Oh Jesus, that one. It had been a mess. How many times had he cut himself on those ragged metal steps that led up to the slick slide? “Ms. Shapiro told us that the city finally got enough money to replace it and it’s so cool! I can’t even tell you how cool it is. You’re gonna just have to see for yourself.”

“I-I trust you Georgie.” He reaches down and taps his little brother’s shoulder. “W-wuh-wanna hold m-my hand?”

“Yeah!”

They had always been like this. Since George had been born. Bill could still remember with an astounding clarity how his newborn brother had gripped his finger when they had first met. The doctor had commented that he hadn’t even done that with their mother. One hand in the other’s, always. Georgie’s hand was small and smooth in his own callused hands on this night.

“Did you write me a new story?” George says after a moment. “You’ve got writer hands again.” This, too, was a shared secret between them. 

“I’m w-working on something a-a-amazing. You’re gonna l-love it.” 

“It better be or I’m getting a new brother.” And he sounds so serious that Bill can’t help but laugh, especially with the small warm buzz of alcohol in him. They’re cresting the hill then and he stops, pulling Georgie back. “Hey!”

“W-w-who are they?”

Two silhouettes, two unfamiliar figures on top of the playground jungle gym. Their laughter drifts over to them. A boy and a girl. You knew  _ everyone _ in Derry. No one came here for the summer, no one new ever came along at all. The last time Bill had heard of someone new it had been five years ago when “Crazy Ben” moved in to the dilapidated house down the street, taking it over from old Ms. Hanscom. No one dared talk to him, not with his overgrown yard, the tired slope of the roof nearly collapsed on itself.

“I don’t know. Let’s go say hi!” And just like that George is slipping away from him, nearly tumbling down the hill. 

“G-George!” He yells but his little brother goes on, heedless of his warning. “G-god damn it. George! C-cuh-cuh… come b-back!” His teeth click together on his stutter and he hates when it gets like this, when his nerves force his speech to repeat itself over in on itself. His mother’s warnings are still fresh in his mind though and George is too fast!

He finally catches up, panting some. The playground has tire chips and everything smells of plastic. “Hi!” George is calling up. “Who are you?”

“J-Juh...Juhhh…” He gulps and shakes his head. “Georgie.” He finally forces it out. “Y-y-you can’t ju-juh-just run off like t-that!” 

“Holy shit dude, are you having a stroke?” 

The first one turns, lanky limbed and goggle eyed from behind his glasses. He’s got a cigarette in his hand that he brings up to his mouth, inhaling sharply. “Fuck, Bev, what’re you supposed to do when someone’s having a stroke. You smell burnt toast, bud?”

“Shut up, Richie.”

And then the girl is falling without falling. For a moment Bill starts forward but she’s stopping just like that, red hair falling around her face and cherubic smile turned in his direction. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be just fine.” He focuses then and notices how her legs are latched around the monkey bars. “Hi there.”

“Hu...Hi…” Bill gulps.

“Bev, you need to dial it back.” The boy groans from above them. “Jesus.” He takes another drag off his cigarette. 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” George huffs and the boy barks out a laugh. 

“That’s Richie Tozier up there, my name’s Bev. Beverly Marsh.” She sticks out her hand then to George and Bill can only watch in amazement as his little brother takes her hand and shakes it like a professional. “Good grip, kiddo.” She’s arching her body back up then. “Gimme the cig, Rich.”

“Not until you give me a good introduction!”

She sighs some and gives them a hapless shrug. “You got one?” She says then, feet swinging. 

“Wuh...What?” Bill swallows thickly, cheeks flushing when Richie laughs again. “A-A cig? No. I-I don’t… I don’t s-sm-smoke.” God, his face is hot.

“Yeah. He doesn’t need any cancer sticks.” George points a finger up at them. “So stuff it, assholes!”

“George!” Bill says then, eyebrows flying up, nearly screaming in dismay. There’s a moment where both Bev and Richie watch them and then they’re both nearly falling off the jungle gym, clutching their stomachs and snorting.

“I like you!” Richie says. “You’re the coolest kid here. I renounce my title. You’ve heard it here first.”

“Tozier’s humbled and I’m amused. I agree. Coolest kid.” Bev hums.

“I didn’t you both to tell me that.” George puts his hands on his hips. “I already knew.”

“Holy fuck, you’re a natural!” Richie’s hopping off the jungle gym then, landing amid the rubber chips. “What are you, like eight?”

“Ten. And a half.” George says. “Bill just turned 21! It’s his birthday.” He adds the last part with a smile.

“Twenty one!” Richie howls. “Well shit dude, congrats. What’s on the docket? Some gambling? Are you a blackjack kind of guy or do you like slots? Bev, do you need to be twenty one to go to a strip club or just eighteen?”

Beverly arches a brow at the male before she too is jumping down. “I wouldn’t know, ‘Chee. I’ve never been.”

“I could have sworn I saw you once… on stage?” Richie’s grinning and Bev’s shoving at him then, away from George and to the ground. It’s so fast though Bill couldn’t have even tried to react, to pull George away if she hadn’t thought to push the leering boy in the other direction.

They shouldn’t be here. These two were  _ tough _ . He’s reaching towards George but his little brother is jumping up and down, whooping then. “Yeah! You show him. You’re a jerk!” George kicks a few chips in Richie’s direction then and Bill’s really getting into panic mode at that. 

“MY ONE WEAKNESS. RUBBER TIRE CHIPS.” Oh. That was unexpected. Richie writhes dramatically, groaning all the while. “BEV. BEVERLY MARSH!” He shrieks then like a banshee, causing the bird’s in the nearby tree to take off into the dying light. “BEEEEEVVV!!!”

“Richie Tozier!” She aims another kick at him. “Shut up!”

“I WANT YOU TO SPREAD MY ASHES ON THIS VERY PLAYGROUND. THIS WILL BE MY LEGACY. MY LIVING TOMB.”

“G-God, y-you’re  _ morbid _ .” Bill finally says sharply and everyone pauses to look at him. 

“And you’re both sass masters. Bev, we’ve found our newest friends.” Richie says as he sits up, shaking the chips from his hair until his glasses fly off. “And now I’m blind!”

“Pathetic.” Bev ignores Richie and takes a few steps forward, closing the space between herself and Bill just like that. “I think it’s really cute that you’re hanging out with your little brother on your 21st birthday.” She smiles then and it’s nice and goodness, she is pretty. He can really see it now. Curling red hair, freckled and pale. “You seem like a real riot to hang out with too.” She inclines her head towards George and his brother beams back. “Better than that loser.”

“Don’t bully me when I’m down on my ass.” Richie’s finally shoving his glasses back on his face. “So, what’s the plan for tonight, birthday boy?”

“W-wuh...wh-what are you t-tuh-talking about?”

“You’ve just made two new best friends, summer is here, you’re twenty-freakin-one!?” Richie throws his arms up and out. “Time to celebrate, dude!”

“O-oh um…” He looks down at George.

“I don’t think my 10 PM bedtime would work with that.” His brother gives an easy shrug. “He’s gotta take me home though first or our mom will flip!”

“Is she hot?” Richie perks his eyebrow. “Because I will come along and-”

“And you will keep your trash mouth shut.” Bev loops her arm into Richie’s. “We can also leave you alone and let you enjoy your own plans. We do not have to force ourselves into people’s lives.” She gives Richie a pointed glance.

“She’s upset because that’s how we became friends.” Richie waggles his eyebrows some. 

“And he’s never left my side.” Bev reaches over to ruffle the other’s curls then and Bill wants that. Yes, her hand in his hair because of his earlier observation of how attractive she is, but more than that was the friendship, the closeness. “The lil leech.”

“Har-Har, I’m the leech! Good one, Bev!” Richie snorts.

“You wanna play for a bit, Georgie? Before we go home?” Bill says, not quite understanding the look that passes between the two.

And George’s eyes light up before he’s racing off to the playground. “Y-you d-don’t have to w-wuh-wait.” He tells them despite the anxious twist in his stomach. 

“We don’t got jack shit to do.” Richie shrugs and Bev nods and it relaxes itself just like that. “I’m gonna swing.” He too then is racing off, managing to fall straight onto his face as he attempts a cartwheel. “OW.”

“That’s my best friend.” Beverly says, shaking her head some. “So Billy, Richie’s right. What’s the plan?”

“I uh, I-I don’t r-ruh-really know.” Nothing. He had nothing planned. What the hell did you even do in Derry? 

“Well shit, Richie-Rich and I will just have to show you a good time, now won’t we?” She moves like water and poetry and it’s amazing to see in action as she slips away from him. “Hey, Tozier.”

“I’m gonna jump REALLY far Bev!” He shouts back at her from the swings.

“No, no, no. No you are  _ not _ !”

He goes to the playground then because they’re off doing their own thing, leaning against the odd rockwall. “I like your new friends.” George says.

“T-they’re not m-my friends, Georgie.”

“They could be!” Georgie jumps a few times on the bridge then, causing it to clatter loudly in the nearing darkness. “I like them.”

“W-well t-th-that’s guh-guh-good.” Bill chuckles some as George climbs up to the tallest slide. “I-I’m glad.”

He may be only ten but Bill liked to think his little brother was a good judge of character. He was still at that age where he said what he felt and he meant it. No barriers, no need to lie to make people feel better about themselves. He wished he could have that candidness again, to forgo the awkwardness and just-

Just do what he wanted to.

He sighs then, checking his watch. “H-hey, it’s time to go. A-are you g-guh-guy’s coming w-with?”

“I am!” Richie does what he promised then. Bill hadn’t even heard the swing creaking and groaning as the lanky boy pumped his legs excitedly, going higher and higher yet until he reaches his own personal apex. He lets go and flies forward through the air, screeching with delight until he barely sticks the landing several feet away. “HOLY SHIT! A NEW WORLD RECORD!” A pause. “WHY AREN’T YOU CLAPPING!?”

“I can go further.” George says after a moment and Richie’s rushing forward then.

“Let’s see it then, lil man.”

“N-n-no! N-nuh-Nuh-Uh!” Bill’s shaking his hands. 

“Howabout we race to your place instead, Georgie?” Bev says, crouching down. “Do you think you can beat me!”

“Well yeah!” George says. “Cos you don’t know where to go.”

“Oh shit. You’re right.” She looks up then and grins at Bill. “Guess Billy-boy is gonna have to show us the way.”

“Ruh...right.” He swallows some then. “L-let’s g-get going.”

 

-

“This is a swanky ass place.” Richie’s whistling. “This was a good choice.”

“C-cuh-coming over?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have come over if I wasn’t your friend. I’m not a stalker!”

Bill snorts and unlocks the front door. “M-Mom, Dad…?” 

“I’ll tell them you’re going out for the night.” George’s slipping past them. “It was nice to meet you both. Bye Bev!”

“I don’t get a goodbye?” That’s Richie, clinging to his face dramatically.

“No cos you’re lame.” And with a vicious laugh George is racing up the stairs. 

“Fuck, I just got roasted by a ten year old.” 

“Ten and half, Richie.” Bev reminds him.

“Oof. Ten and half years my junior and already so savage. You better watch him, Bill.” There’s a hand on his shoulder then, guiding him back away from the door. “So, Derry night life.”

“N-nuh-non-exist-tuh-ent.” Bill’s saying and both Bev and Richie are shaking their heads, eyes wide. “W-wh-what?”

“You don’t know about the secret spot.” Bev whispers excitedly.

“He’s a goody two shoes, what do you expect?”

“H-how d-duh-do you t-t-two know? Y-you’re n-not even f-fruh-from here…” Bill says, huffing a bit.

“We get around. Well, Bev does.”

“Wow, fuck off, Rich!” She’s practically spitting venom in her response and Bill can’t help but think that this wasn’t the best joke to make, especially given their earlier interaction. He glances over at Richie, who looks unfazed.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that Bevvie.”

“Except it’s a lie, you  _ prick _ .” She’s shoving him then and stomping off. 

“Hey. Hey! Quarry?!” Richie’s calling after her. “Aw, she’ll get over it. She knows I don’t mean it.”

“B-Buh y-yuh-you made h-h-her uncommm…” He shakes his head, starts once more. “Un-n-nuh-nuh…  _ uncomfortable _ .” He finally spits the word out and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. 

“I-It’s just a joke though.” Richie’s got this odd smile on his face. Forced, that’s the word Bill’s looking for. It looks forced. “Like… I dunno.” It drops and suddenly he’s painfully, obviously embarrassed. “...Fuck.”

“Y-you j-juh-just have t-to ah-pol… apologize t-to her.” 

It’s quiet and all there is to fill it is Derry’s nightly wildlife. An owl hoots, crickets chirp. Another near summer night in Derry. There’s so many backroads here and the traffic sounds infinitely far away. 

Sometimes it didn’t even feel  _ real _ .

“Yeah man, I’ll do that.” Richie kicks at the dirt road then and before Bill can speak again a wolf howls.

Richie’s head whips up. A wolf in Derry. It’s impossible. Maine’s wildlife was vast but they didn’t have wolves here. “S-shit, s-someone’s pr-pruh-probably fucking around.” He thinks of his younger years, of Henry Bowers leering face. He feels it then, an undeniable dread as his childhood tries to wrap itself tight around him once more. “Wuh-we s-sh-should g-go.” He doesn’t want to be out in the open like this. So strange, he’s twenty one and yet he’s so afraid. 

But Richie has other plans.

“Do you smell that?” The other says on a whisper breath. Bill shakes his head some and steps nearer. Richie’s wide eyed then and gasping. “...Fire.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys! I know 100+ hits may not seem like a lot, but I wasn't honestly expecting too much attention right away on this bad boy. I hope you enjoy this chapter lots. Also, if you're willing, I'd love to get some feedback on my horror writing skills! It's my first time attempting this and I wanna see if I'm doing good.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the chapter!!!

 

If there was one thing Eddie Kaspbrak was learning to hate, it was summer.

He had loved it once, especially in his childhood. What wasn’t there to love about endless days that seemed to stretch on and on until the moon forced its way across the sky? Even with his anxious mother he had found a way to make it count.

But now he hated them.

Hated how long they seemed to go on for, how stubborn the sun was, how he was forced to wait and wait and wait until the moon arrived and granted him bliss.

“I’m home!” A cheery voice called. “Woah, woah hey guys. Let’s scootch now.”

He glanced around the corner, sighing some as he watched Ben Hanscom maneuver around the foyer, doing his best to avoid the cats that crowded him. “Hey, hey. C’mon.  Lemme through.”

Eddie pressed himself back into his corner, sighing some. It would only be a matter of time until… “Eddie. Hey Eds!”

God damn it.

He makes his way to the kitchen. Don’t be rude, Eddie. Just be civil for once. But today had been so long with almost nothing to do, just like every day, and he was getting so damn _tired_ of it.

The house itself was strange. As magical houses were, Eddie had learned over time. It was still adjusting to Ben, to his untamed magic and lack of practice. It showed in the way the walls slanted, the way the yard was alive with overgrown grass and strange flora. Cats, unnamed and strange, always appearing in their shared space, hissing at him and taking to Ben without complaint, a chimney that always smoked even without a fire blazing in it, the hallways filled with some old, forgotten song.

“You there Eddie?” Ben called and Eddie finally entered the kitchen, the one place that knew Ben well, that had taken to him and shaped itself around him. Poultices and potions and smudge sticks and cauldrons and God know what else filled every nook and cranny possible. Ben in the middle of it, master of his own domain, smiling and feeding The Cats (an entity rather than actual individuals beings, Eddie had decided.) “Oh, it’s probably too early...” Ben muses.

“No shit.” Eddie says.

Of course, it goes unheard.

Because of course, he’s dead.

Not necessarily. But in the literal sense, he is dead. They had buried him and then one day he had been unburied and Ben Hanscom, untrained witch and twenty two, had tried to push his soul back into his body and it had said no.

But for some reason the afterlife had said no, too.

So here he was, floating in between. A ghost of a boy.

“Well, should be dark soon.” Ben’s petting A Cat and then they’re all clamoring for love and attention. “I brought those books you wanted from the library. I’m gonna leave them right here in the kitchen.”

He glances over then at the pile of books and stares hard, stares until his eyes water and his head begins to pound and still then, until it feels like something has pierced his skull and finally, the book tumbles over itself before hitting the floor.

“Oh!” They scatter and leave Ben standing there. “You’re here. Hey Eddie!”

He scootches the book along the floor a bit more towards Ben despite the pain of it. He had been neglecting this… whatever it was, always looking forward to night when he could actually do it for real. “Dude, nice.” Ben picks it up and dusts off the cover before returning it to the pile. “You’re getting really good at that. Soon you’ll be able to pick me up!” Ben runs a hand down his front then, chuckling some. “Come get me when you’re corporeal, I wanna talk about some stuff.”

‘Some stuff’ could mean a number of things when it came to Ben. He glanced towards the window, towards the setting sun.

Soon.

-

Fire, fire, fire.

Orange on the horizon, a growing bloom of color that was impossible to miss. Something in him was drawn to the sight, the _smell of it_. The wind carried it to them and his whole body strained to run to the source of it.

“Fire.” It’s one of the few words he’s heard Bill say without stuttering. His eyes are wide, red hair its own flame. “R-Ruh-Rich…”

“C’mon.” He finally comes back to himself. A hand on the other’s wrist, dragging him forward. It’s far, too far to run to for the human next to him. He can already hear the other male gasping as they power up the hill. “Where’s the goddamn fire department?” He screams at Bill. “I don’t- I don’t hear sirens!”

“I-I-I duh...don’t know.” Bill sounds moments away from being sick as they crest the top. He sees it then, an unbelievable blaze. “...O-oh God. Th-that’s… the H-huh-Hanlon’s. T-That’s the Hanlon farm on f-fuh-fire!”

Nonsense words. They mean nothing to him in that moment, not when the flames leap higher and higher, not when he hears the wolf again. “Call someone!” He can see Bill fumbling for his phone with shaking fingers, struggling to press three simple numbers. “Jesus, give me-!”

“S-service.” He’s throwing the phone then to the ground. “N-No! No s-suh-service!” Of course, they’re out among the rolling hills of Derry, away from the city and the suburbs and what little it has to offer.

Another howl and that’s when he hears it.

Screaming.

He’s charging forward despite Bill’s screamed warning. His heart singing with it, his body taking to the pace like it was born for it. And it was, after all. Made to run and hunt and cry to the moon.

It’s unnatural, this hell fire blaze that he comes upon. The flames leaping higher and higher, consuming the dry farmland and what’s left of the house and the barn. Richie jerks to a halt, eyes widening in horror at the sight of it, at the implication. Dead. There was no way anyone could survive that. Still, above it all, he can hear a woman wailing desperately. “I’M COMING TO HELP.” He roars and the fire roars back, almost sentient, a column of flame rising to meet him.

“God.” He swears and that’s when he sees _It_.

A not-wolf in this moment. Hunched and rotting and blistered, a mass of fur and scarred flesh. Made worse yet by it’s rolling eyes and broken teeth and blood red panting tongue. Not-wolf, with it’s too big shape and stinking black pelt of ichor and tar. Not-wolf, through the fire and flames, grinning at him like the demon It was.

“ _Richie_ .” It said in an all too human voice, quiet and slinking, and thank God he left Bill behind because a human shouldn’t have to see _this_ . The way It sloughs It’s skin, leaving behind only bleeding muscle and bone and still those sulfur yellow eyes. “ _It’s been so long_.”

The fire blazes higher yet behind It and Richie’s heart beats too loudly in his own ears. “ _It’s been fun playing human, yes? But it’s almost time._ ” It’s mouth splits then into three parts with a sharp ripping sound ( _paper, like paper ripping_ , Richie thinks distantly) rows and rows of teeth lining each section. A dream, he swears in that moment, this has to be a bad dream. The smell of burning flesh reaches him then and God, just wake up Richie, just wake up!

It throws itself at him then, taking Richie by surprise. They roll down the hill, away from the farm, away from the heat of the fire. The moon shines down on them, every bit a spotlight to this terrible tragedy. It gives a terrible howl that shakes his body down to his bones, his nerves,  every blood vessel he holds. “Please!” He screams, pushing at It, feeling It’s ropey muscles and crying out in disgust as his hands sink into the mass of oozing tissue. “Stop!”

“ _Stop what, Richie?!_ ” It screams back in his face, thick saliva dripping down onto him. He cringes away from the rotting smell, crying out when it splashes his skin like acid. “ _This is it. This is you, you stupid little fuck. You’re a freak, unnatural!_ ” He feels It’s bones now and he pushes back weakly, his gag reflex jumping desperately at the smell of decay. “ _You’re a monster, just. like. me!_ ”

He screams back at It and shoves harder, feeling the bones crack under his hands until they’re bits and pieces, cutting deeply into the palms of his hands, but he can’t, he just can’t, not when It’s snapping it’s strange mouth at him, a crazed laugh wheezing out of It. “ _That’s right, keep trying Richie, keep trying!!! Lil’ runt, lil’ fuck! Haw-HAW!”_

He kicks It then in the gut with a bellow, causing the not-wolf to fly off to the side. He’s up then, crying behind his goggle-lenses, his legs a quivering mess as he throws himself at the hillside again, almost crawling up the side, the wolf in him moments away from pushing through his skin. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Please no. It’s quiet now, no whisper-roar of fire, no screaming. “Please.” He grits his teeth. “Please.”

And that’s when he sees it.

Not It, not the terrible monster, but instead he sees something impossible rise from the cinders of the decimated farmhouse with a terrible cry and a flash of orange and red and even blue...

“Phoenix.” He whispers into the dead of the night as it flies up and up into the stars.

“Richie!”

His head whips back from the sight and then back again to the sky but it’s already gone, not even a cinder left trailing in its wake. He blinks and shakes his head, barely hearing his name being called again. “R-Rich!”

It’s Bill. How long did the confrontation with the demon last? Hours, something in him insists, but it was no more than minutes, maybe even a handful of seconds that were made up of in-between time that didn’t exist, he realizes. He looks at his hands and what’s left is a scrapped rawness but nothing like before. “Rich, oh God, R-Richie!” Bill’s wailing and there’s nothing more tragic than that. A stranger’s crying. He’s up then and grabbing him, pulling him in the opposite direction. “Buh-Buh-But-!”

“We can’t be here.” He hisses. Not with It prowling in the shadows, not when It’s presence spells out their doom when they’re accused for this. That’s how It worked, after all. Twisting and warping reality to It’s benefit, creating chaos, thriving on it and the fallout. “Bill, listen to me.” He says because the other is beginning to spit out a protest. “We need to find Bev, we need… we need to be away from here.” From the skeleton of the farmhouse and away from the moon and it’s inauspicious glare. “God damn it, Bill!” He can hear the other gasping, causing his own personal panic attack. “There’s nothing we could have done.” He pauses then. “Where’s your fucking phone?”

“I-I guh-guh-grabbed i-it.” His teeth chatter. At least there’s that. One less thing to worry about. “Wu-Wuh-Wha…” He shakes his head then and presses his fists to his face, letting out a frustrated noise.

“It was all gone by the time I got there Bill.” He’s touching the other boy’s shoulder, telling the lie as gently as he can. “We couldn’t be there. There was nothing left.” Nothing but suspicion and false accusations.

All of a sudden Bill’s phone explodes with noise. “O-Oh, oh n-n-no. My mom.” He manages out. “S-sh-she’s… I-I can’t…”

“Let me. What’s your last name, Billy?” He looks _this_ close to actually crying, the tears glimmering in his eyes. How strange it is to be learning this now of all times, the thought almost causes a nervous giggle to slide out of him. “C’mon now.”

“Denbrough.”

“Okay. Let’s keep goin’.” They continue away from the farm, from the crime scene that is the Hanlon’s now, away from It. He takes the phone from the other and holds it to his ear. “Hi. Hi there Mrs. Denbrough. Oh, you don’t know me, but I’m Bill’s new friend. My name is Richie. Richie Tozier. Maybe we’ve seen each other around town?” Bill’s looking at him wide eyed and confused because yes, the earlier Richie was one thing, this one was in a different league. The soft spoken, polite Richie. The compulsive genteel. It’s a mask, just one of the many he can wear. “Bill’s right here, but he was just having some trouble speaking, so he asked me to speak to you.”

She’s wailing, barely intelligible at this point. They all saw the fire from the town, had watched in despair as the firetruck tires had all blown and they were left scrambling to find a way to the farm. “Bill, I want my Billy!” She’s crying then and he’s pressing the phone into Bill’s trembling hands, guiding the other across the Barrens as he consoles his own mother.

He has to get Bill home and after that he needs to find Bev and then they need to bust down Hanscom’s door because after months of ignoring the problem, It was finally back.

-

 

She doesn’t go to the Quarry.

She doesn’t want to, not after what Richie said. He’s so full of shit sometimes and she knows he never means most of it (at least, not usually) but it was still in front of a near stranger, and God, she hadn’t even been able to look in Bill’s direction to see his reaction.

Instead, she finds herself in front of Ben Hanscom’s house. It was so easy to be drawn here. The magic in the house was powerful, a natural beacon to the supernatural. She didn’t even to knock. It knew her, welcomed her by letting the door swing inwards the moment her sneakers hit the dilapidated front porch.

“Ben!” She called into the dark hallway. “Eddie?”

“Here!” Eddie’s enthusiastic voice called back. Poor thing, she mused as she made her way down the strange hallways. Eddie Kaspbrak should have never died, should not be caught up in this in between place of not quite living, the moon his only saving grace. He hadn’t even been twenty when it had happened.

When It had killed him.

Beverly closes her eyes against the memories that threaten to wash over her. The house groans around her, the walls pressing in some. She glances up at the low hanging ceiling, a small smile touching her features. “I’m okay.” Such a good house, Bev can’t help but think as she touches the wall. Ben’s grandmother had done everything in her power to make this place safe and good and God, was it ever. “Thank you.” It recedes then with a series of creaking noises.

“Bev!” It’s always strange to see Ben without a smile on his face, but when their eyes connect across the length of the hallway it’s the first thing she notices. “I wasn’t expecting you, and then the house…”

“Tattletail.” She raps her knuckles against the wall and the floorboards shift beneath her, a teasing unbalancing act. “Hanscom, tell it to behave.”

“You’re the only one it likes.” Suddenly the hallway is that much shorter and their standing only a few feet apart. “Ack!”

“Hello Ben.” She smiles. “You know, there’s a spell for unruly houses…” It’s a gentle suggestion that the witch meets with a shake of his hands, something that she’s grown used to over the months since she’s arrived in Derry. Maybe later, not right now, I’m not there yet, not good enough.

“Where’s the fun in that, Bev?”

“Yeah, you know, living in a literal carnival fun house is my idea of ‘fun’ too.” That’s Eddie, peeking over the staircase railing.

“Terrible argument. You just called it fun.” Ben says, brow furrowing some. “If it’s fun, then how is it not fun, Edds?”

Eddie raises a finger, opens his mouth. They both stare at him as his face turns a delicious shade of red. Don’t… think about blood, Marsh. It’s hard around new people, the scent of it nearly overwhelming, and Bill’s sweet demeanor hadn’t helped the situation at all. “Listen, a fun house does not mean it is inherently fun. It is the least amount of fun one can have while at a carnival.”

“I don’t know, I’ve had a terrible time on a kiddy coaster…” Ben muses and Bev snorts out a laugh.

“This argument is over.” Eddie says as he traipses down the stairs. “I have limited time and I am not wasting it on _this_.”

“Fair.” They chorus as the younger male rushes past them. “It was nice seeing you Eddie.” She calls after him and he’s returning, looking petulant. “C’mere, ghost boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” He muffles against her shoulder before he’s hugging her tight.

“Halfling.” She tugs a lock of his hair affectionately. “Where are you going tonight?”

“I don’t know. Wherever the wind will take me.” He throws a grin over his shoulder. “Is Tozier out and about?” He’s pulling a face then. “I don’t wanna see that ass.”

“That makes two of us!” She huffs and Ben’s tilting his head at her. “That’s why I’m here.” Nowhere else to go to Derry at this hour besides the apartment she shares with Richie and the Quarry.

“God.” Eddie shakes his head some. “Wait, Ben, you said you had something to talk about.” There’s an impatience to him and Bev doesn’t blame him. She knows approximately how many hours there are until sunrise herself. Not enough, never enough, not like the Other World. “Well?”

“I just… I wanted to say with the Solstice coming up next month that uh, I’ve been looking into some spell work. I’m not gonna make you stay home tonight, b-but maybe tomorrow we can gather everyone up? You both know a lot more than me.” Ben’s inclining his head in her direction with a sheepish smile.

“Ben.” She sighs. “Richie and I are... “

“Are amazing supernaturals and know what the hell you’re doing, unlike me.”

 _You’d know if you’d try. You’re so smart, so eager, so kind. Magic would take to you like that if you just trusted yourself_. She bites down on her tongue, glances over at Eddie. He stares back at her and gives a subtle shake of his head. Don’t push it. Eddie, after all, was bound to this house until night came and knew Ben better than she did, but still…

“Okay, if Richie isn’t fucked up beyond belief, we’ll be here. Screw it, we’ll both be here. I’ll drag his ass.”

“You can leave him at home, you know.” Eddie says as he nears the door. It’s stubborn when it comes to him, the knob rattling uselessly under his hands. “C’mon! Lemme go!”

“It likes you!”

“House!” Eddie shouts at the ceiling and the runner beneath him shifts, nearly causing him to fall. “This is not cute, it does not like me! It’s like the The Cats.”

“The Cats?” Beverly repeats back, hoping she had misheard the other.

“Singular. They are a hive mind, a joint being.” He tries at the knob again and it sticks. “God, help me. Let me out!”

“Oh here.” She says and she slips past him. “C’mon house, y’know how important this is to Edds.” She touches the knob and…

It sticks.

“Ben…” She says but he’s already running to the kitchen. “Ben, what’s going on?”

They follow after him to the backdoor, watching as he presses his hands to it. “I need you to let me go.” He says to it softly and Bev can only watch in amazement as the lock clicks back into place. “What are you doing?!”

“It’s trying to protect us.” She says. “Something’s out there.”

There’s a pause in which they’re all quiet, deathly silent until Eddie opens his mouth and speaks with a sudden certainty.

“... _It’s_ here.”

Her heart stutters in her chest and then they’re all pressing up against each other, moving away from the windows. “Why now?” She hisses out. It had been gone for months, a hell they had unleashed onto the world and had never taken responsibility for…

And apparently hell had found it’s way back to them.

Ben and Eddie both are shaking and she wraps her arms around them, feeling her fangs elongate in her mouth. She couldn’t imagine them doing anything against _It_ , especially when the idea of the demon’s blood in her mouth caused her stomach to flip, but at this point she needs the vampire in her to come to life. Sharper hearing, quicker reflexes, a burning desire to kill.

The door shudders then and they all jerk in unison. “Spells. We need spells, Ben.” Does he even know any? He had been so insistent that his mother had been right, that magic was a mistake… that he hadn’t been born to it.

“I-I can try.” His voice shakes as the door shudders again. The house itself seems to grow that much bigger around them. Good house, she thinks as she trails her knuckles against the floorboards. Ben’s hand follows suit, drawing out symbols.

“More than that, Ben.” She whispers harshly. Those are wards against pests and unwanted neighbors. Those won’t do anything against It.

“But Bev-!”

“ _Knock knock!_ ”

Oh God.

It’s still outside but It’s voice pushes through the doorway and into their eardrums, insistent and saccharine sweet.

“ _Oh please, won’t you let me in?_ ” It wheedles. “ _They say Hanlon farm caught fire and I’m scared all of Derry will go up in flames next!_ ” It laughs hysterically then and Eddie’s breathing sharply next to her, near pants. “ _So many sleeping bodies, waking up to fire, unable to move as it consumes them. Could you imagine? How fun!_ ”

And she can because It could make that happen just like that. Spell all of Derry, cause the flames to burn that much hotter, until nothing was left but the razed ground. Not even the memory of Derry, Maine would exist if _It_ so willed as such.

“ _Oh Bevvie, I can taste it. You’re terrified, aren’t you? Thought you had gotten rid of lil ol’ me?_ ” It cackles then before the door frame shakes violently.

 

**_“WHYWONTYOULETMEINLETMEINLETMEINIJUSTWANTTOHAVEATASTEJUSTABITEEATYOUALIVESWALLOWYOUWHOLEWHYWONTYOULETMEINLETMEIN!?!?!”_ **

 

The whole house trembles with It’s screamed demands. Ben’s fingers were shaking on the ground, his features drawn and pale as he broke out in a sweat. The roaring grew louder and louder around them, dust shaking from the rafters, the nails holding the floorboards in place unscrewing. Unmaking the house, It was undoing it entirely, pushing It's way in. Oh God, Oh God. She’s crying, she realizes. Tears spilling down her face as she bites back her sobs.

“Go away!” Eddie screams back. “You fucking sick fuck! Go. Away!”

“ _Not unless you ask nicely!_ ” It thunders back. “ _Can you do that Eddie? Can you ask me to leave nicely? Beg for it, Eddie Boy, and maybe I’ll leave you and your friends alone for a while longer._ ”

He’s crying as well, his whole body shaking with it. “ _Dead boy walking._ ” It coos through the door. “ _What do you want?_ ”

“I-I want you to go away… p-please.” He manages out thickly. “Please go away.”

There’s a tight moment of silence where they all hold their breath. Five seconds, then fifteen. Beverly finally looses a breath-

Only to scream as the door bulges inwards grotesquely, violent and sudden, talon tipped fingers pushing the wood inward like it’s made of rubber instead of wood.

“ _Not good enough!_ ” It taunts with a crazy laugh. “ _Ohohoho, not good enough Eddie! Do you think you forgot your manners when I killed you, or when that fat fuck brought you back?!_ ”

“PLEASE!” Eddie screams then, throwing himself onto the floorboards, prostate and rigid. “Please! Please, please, please go away. Go away!” He’s sobbing then, body shaking with it. “Oh God, oh Jesus, _please_!”

“ _Well… I suppose that’s good enough_.”

It’s almost comical, the ho-hum way it speaks just then. Bev has to jam a fist into her mouth to resist the urge to laugh, hysterical squeaking noises slipping out. Good enough. A God damn demon just told them they did good enough to live for another week? Maybe even less time than that. No way, no fucking way.

“ _Bevvie, Ben, Eddie?”_ It simpers. _“I hope next time you’ll be a bit more welcoming. I’ve missed you all so much~ Until next time._ ” It giggles then, high pitched and piercing and every bit a parody of a circus clown in that moment.

“Oh God.” Eddie’s moaning, clutching his stomach. “I-I feel... “

He doesn’t feel _real_ in that moment, she notes absently as she touches his shaking back. He feels more ghost than boy, barely there, barely anything at all. She sees the way he pats his pockets frantically. “My-my inhaler, I need…!”

“No, no Eddie. You don’t need that anymore.” She puts her hands on his face, watching in horror as they slip, unable to find purchase. “C’mon, come back.” He’s got a whistle-rattle in his chest that grows with every gasp. “Ben!”

“E-Eddie, c’mon.” None of them are doing that great in the moment but Ben has to at least try to keep it together. The house is getting smaller around them, leaning in worriedly. “Stop, think. When’s the last time you used your inhaler? Took your pills?”

Eddie’s eyes dart around some. “...W-weeks.” He manages out thickly.

“Months Eddie. It’s been months.” Ben reminds him.

“O-oh, yeah.”

“See, and you’ve been doing fine. You don’t need those right now.” They couldn’t have him slipping into that place that was before them, before the Solstice.

That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Y-yeah, y-you’re...you’re right.” He falls into Bev then with a weak noise. “...It almost…”

“But It didn’t, Eddie.” She says as she pushes his hair back from his face before she looks up at Ben. “It didn’t.”

At least, not yet.


	3. Chapter 3

His mom is sobbing, her hands all over him, cheeks and shoulders and forehead. Checking for signs of something, anything. “M-M-Mom…”

“What were you even doing out?” She hisses at him. 

How he wishes he could speak without his stutter. He can already tell how bad of a time he’ll have with this. “R-Ruh-Rich and I-I just… w-we’re going o-o-out.”

“A stranger, Bill! He’s a stranger!”

“H-he-he’s m-muh-my age m-mom!” He grits back, barely able to speak. “W-what, I-I’m nuh-nuh-not allowed to h-hu-have fr-friends now!?” 

Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. “I-I’m nuh-not ten a-anymore m-muh-mom.” He tries to soften his words for her sake but he’s still so upset. He had never met Mike Hanlon. He had been homeschooled through high school and then Bill himself had been off to college. He rubs at his cheeks then. “W-what ha-happened while I was g-guh-gone…?”

“Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak? He went missing right before Christmas. Showed up on the New Year, dead.” 

Eddie. Oh God Eddie. They had shared classes together, projects even. The other boy had been freckled and nervous as a newborn colt, startling at just about anything, his mother always barging her way into classes demanding that her sweet Eddie was being treated unfairly. “W-why didn’t you t-tell me?”

“No one ever wants to talk about it. His mother begged us to keep it quiet.” 

“Jesus, M-mom.”

She’s shaking her head again, soft, helpless noises leaving her. His mother had always been like this. Sensitive. “Your father is with George. We should… we should go home, be together.”

Something in him wants to race back to Hanlon farm, shift through what was left and somehow find the whole family alive and well. It didn’t happen that way, not unless you wrote it, and even then Bill couldn’t think of how anyone could survive that. It had been hell on earth, pillars of flame and smoke so thick you could barely breathe.

“Okay.” He finally whispers back and his mom is hugging him. “...O-Okay.”

-

“Hanscom. Open up, open up the damn door.” Sure, Hanscom’s house liked to pull pranks on him, but it still liked him infinitely better than it liked Edds (something that he liked to lord over the other as much as he could.) “Jesus fuck, open UP!” He slams his palm against the door and oh.

Bev’s got a god damn iron poker raised to run him through with.

“‘Chee.”

“Bev.” 

They stand there for a moment before she’s grabbing him and hauling  him into the house. He hears how it locks itself up behind him, lock after lock after lock. 

(How did it manifest that many locks?)

“It knows.” He whispers and Bev’s looking at him, trying to make sense of his words, it seems.

“Which one?” She finally says between gritted teeth and his breath catches in his throat.

“The house, the demon, both of them? I saw It.”

“You saw It? Where the hell did you see  _ It _ ?”

“Hanlon farm.”

“Where the fire was? It told us-”

“It was here!?”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up!”

That’s Eddie, his perfectly coiffed hair a mess, his eyes red. “You saw It, It tried to get us. Must have been one after the other. There, end of story.”

“Well nice to know It holds all of us in such high regard.” Richie rolls his eyes. “I was out with Bill after you ran off, walking through the Barrens when I heard a wolf… when I heard It.”

It’s almost midnight at this point and they’re all supposed to be awake. The witching hour is when they were at their highest strength, and yet here they all were, slumped and nerve wracked in Ben’s hallways. “So we went. I left Bill behind eventually, and then I saw it… t-the fire.” That’s when he remembers. “I need to talk to Ben. Right now.”

“He’s warding the living room. C’mon.” 

Bev leads with a purpose. In the five months that they’ve known each other, lived side by side, Richie had learned that Beverly Marsh was brave first. Everything else came after. Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet as they continued down the hall. No one could rival his own motormouth, but still… the other boy always managed to give him a run for his money. “You okay Edds?”

“Oh yeah, almost came face to face with my demonic killer again, that was sure fun.” He’s rolling his eyes before glaring up at Richie. “What do you think, you ass?”

“Wow, you try to be nice one time and look at what it gets you.” He sticks his tongue out at the other. “Jeesh!” He sticks his hands into his pockets then, glancing up and away.

“...I’m… I’m not.” Eddie’s small voice comes then and Richie’s looking back. “I almost slipped.”

It had happened a lot when Ben had brought Eddie back. Slipping back into before, when he was alive, nearly dying over and over again every week. He had been only a ghost back then, what would happen if it happened now, Eddie fleshbound and alive under the stars?

“You didn’t. You’re still here, dork.” He’s reaching over then to ruffle the other’s already messy hair. “Still tiny, too.” Five foot eight to Richie’s six foot four, always a source of amusement to the ‘were. 

“Tozier.” The smaller male seethes.

“Kaspbrak.” He hums back.

“Boys.” Beverly sighs. “Really?”

They both look up to see Beverly, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed at them. “Ben’s waiting, stop squabbling and c’mon.”

“He started it!” Eddie insists as he rushes forward. “Aw Bev, come on!”

“I can’t help it Eddie. You’re just so cute!” He calls after the other, grinning as the other boy manages a shrieked noise of frustration. “Don’t you agree Bev?”

“You’re still on thin ice with me, Richie.” 

“Yikes!” Apologize, Bill’s voice rings through his head (except it’s more like “apuh-puh- _ POLIGIZE _ !”) but that’s for later, when they aren’t half panicked and on edge, when thing’s have settled (will they? Would they ever?) “You know, if there’s one good thing about that son of a bitch, It does manage to get you all spunky, Bev.”

“That’s called bloodlust, Richie. Not spunk.”

“Potato,  _ potato _ ?” He offers back before he’s stepping past Beverly. “BEN HANSCOM.” He thunders then. 

“Jesus! What?” Ben’s head pops up. Witches weren’t really supposed to call down God and Jesus, but then again, Ben’s mother had never been the one to follow the norm, they had tried to escape the magic in their veins, his mother spurred on by the death of Ben’s father to run as far away as she could.

But magic always found a way though.

It always did.

“Hanlon farm.” There’s a hush that settles around him when he speaks. He’s serious Richie again, no yakking, no bullshit. “We were there. I saw it burn. It was there…” Even repeating it is hard. He doesn’t want to say it, because saying it makes it real and the last thing Richie wants is for that god damned demon to be real. “There was no helping it, It must’ve scorched the thing with hell fire, but I saw something.” 

“What?” Eddie says.

“A phoenix.”

“Impossible!” Bev scoffs. “A phoenix in Derry! What’s next?”

“A vampire, a werewolf, a halfling like Eds? A witch, a demon!?” Richie shoots back. “I saw it fly up from the wreckage, from the ashes Ben! It shot up like an illegal firework and disappeared into the night sky with a scream so loud it could shake the sky!”

Despite making an argument out of it, vamps and ‘weres and witches were all common in the Other World. Even out there, past Derry, Maine. A lot of supernatural went topside, but a phoenix? That was top tier. They weren’t allowed to leave. Too rare, too precious. So how had one come bursting out of Hanlon farm?

“So one of them is alive.” Ben finally says softly. “We should… we should go and check the wreckage.”

“It probably already did away with everything, made it look like an accident. Nobody will think anything of it. I couldn’t stay, not with Bill.” They all knew how It worked and he could see that no one blamed him for leaving the scene. Still, it was frustrating. 

“They have to be so scared.” Bev finally says. “Do you think they even knew that they were…?”

Richie stares at the floor like it’ll have answers. House was old, house had to know something that they didn’t, right? He sits on the floor then and presses his palms up against the wood. “A phoenix and a demon in Derry. What’s next, the Heavenly host?” 

“Haw-Haw, real funny Richie.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “So what do we do now?”

“We need to find them.” Beverly says. “Before It does.” And she doesn’t have to even say it because they all know what would happen if It did.

The wolf in him is eager. He can feel it pushing under his skin, this close to breaking out from it. Don’t, he wants to tell it. Don’t do this now, in front of Bev, in front of Eddie. But there’s a hunt to be had and the moon is nearing a fullness that sent his blood singing.  _ Unnatural _ … 

_ Supernatural _ , something in him yelled back at It and that gave him the bravery to look up and grin.

“Let’s split up gang.” He says in his best Fred Jones impression. “C’mon Eds, you can be my Daphne.”

“Ugh, as if.”

“See, you already sound like her.”

“If anyone’s Daphne it would be Bev…” Ben says, which gets him a prompt cool look from Beverly that causes him to chuckle nervously. “I just mean, t-the red hair, not the whole… d-damsel in distress thing!”

“Damn right.” She says with a toss of that fiery red mane. “The night won’t wait forever. Let’s go, boys.”

He’s looping his arm with Eddie’s and the smaller male lets out a noise of protest. “Oh you love it.” He says breezily as they all make their way out of the house. Eddie’s cold to the touch and his own high running temps take to it, especially when they step out into the muggy warmth of the night. “Relax, what’s the big deal, we’re just two dudes walking arm in arm Eds.”

“Stop calling me Eds!” He attempts to disentangle but Richie winches their arms together that much tighter “Let go, Tozier!”

“Shh, you’re going to draw attention!” He hushes the other and of course, Ben and Bev both look back at them “Now see what you’ve done, Eddie. You went and made a scene!”

“The only person causing a scene is YOU, Richie!” It’s a full body effort at this point, Eddie wriggling as they walk towards the street. “I swear to God if you don’t let me go.”

“Oh I get it.” He let’s go and Eddie stumbles with it, but he catches the other. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’ve been telling you this whol-Y  _ GAWD _ PUT ME DOWN RICHIE!” 

And that’s when he begins to give Eddie Kaspbrak a piggy back ride.

“You just had to tell me you wanted a piggy back ride! See, this is great!”

“R-RICHIE! RICHIE LET ME DOWN RIGHT NOW YOU TALL ASS FREAK!” Eddie’s clinging to him like a god damn life preserver, legs and arms both clinched tight around him. “I swear if you don’t put me down right now.”

“Eddie! Be quiet!” Beverly shushes them. 

“Why are you telling me to be quiet but not telling Richie to put me down!?” Eddie shrills.

“Can we all be quiet, maybe?” Ben asks. They’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m going to lay the invisibility spell now so Eddie either needs to stay where he is or put him down, Richie.”

“Whadda say, Eds?” He twists his head some and they’re inches away from each other. He could count the other’s freckles, could probably even count his lashes if he wanted to. 

“Put me down. Right now.” The other grits out between clenched teeth and he obliges.

“You didn’t say please, but I guess that’s okay.” Richie stretches his arms up and Eddie’s gaping at him before his features screw up with rage. Oh he’s pissed, alright. 

“Shh!” Bev hushes him again. “Let Ben focus.”

The craft was strange. Male witches were an oddity, so there was already one strike against Ben Hanscom. Magic didn’t take to him with the ease that female witches found over years. Plus, the was the fact of his mother. 

Still, he can feel the way the universe goes quiet around them, the way it draws close.  _ Make me, mold me. _ It was the exact opposite of what It felt like. It was a compromise, not a demand. You didn’t tell the universe anything, you started always with a question.

_ Will you help us? _

_...Yes. _

_ Will you cloak us? _

_ Yes. _

The one time Ben Hanscom had demanded something, he had been on his knees with a pristine corpse in front of him, his frustration boiling over, his magic useless. Give him back, he had screamed. Give him  _ back! _

And so the universe had.

On it’s own terms, of course.

The magic settles around them. Equal parts asking and equal parts making. Richie doesn’t know how much time passes, but finally Ben nods. “We’re good now.”

“I can finally streak without repercussions!” Richie announces and they throw up their arms and begin to tell him off. “I’M KIDDING, GUYS.” A pause. “Mostly!”

“Richie, we’re invisible but we aren’t muted. You need to keep it down.” Ben says. 

“Well why didn’t you say so!” He drops his voice into a stage whisper. “Okay, so we’re splitting up?”

“Why do you wanna split up so bad?” Eddie hisses at him and Richie flaps his hands and the other. “Give me three, no five! Five good reasons for us to split up!”

“We’re going to go this way, and they’re going to go that way. Goodbye Beverly Marsh, goodbye Ben Hanscom.”

“Meet up before dawn!” Bev calls after him, uncaring (or perhaps just ignoring) Eddie’s flabbergasted expression.

“Obviously!” Richie points at Eddie before he’s dragging the other along. 

“God, let go! Richie what is your deal?” Eddie rips his hand away and huffs. Richie casts a gaze over his shoulder before looking at the ghost-boy in front of him. 

“I wanted to give those two some alone time. Ben’s almost always with you.” He fixes his glasses some, raising his brow at Eddie. “...Why, what did you think, Eds?”

There’s a beat of silence in which Eddie flushes a bright red color. “I didn’t think anything except that you are stupid and annoying and that literally everything you do doesn’t make a lick of sense.” He points his finger at the other. “Let’s go and find your phoenix, Tozier.”

“Sounds like a dealio, Eds.”

“And stop calling me that.”

“No can do.”

“I hate you.”

He smiles then, wolfishly at the other. “I know.”

-

 

Alone on a late night in May with Beverly Marsh.

Gosh, she’s pretty. She’s got simple t-shirt on and overalls that are rolled up past her ankle. Earlier in the house he had seen the ink stains on the tips of her fingers. Drawing again, making something beautiful that she would then sew up and stitch and let hang in her closet in the apartment she shared with Richie. 

“That Richie Tozier is something else.” He says by means of breaking the silence. It’s not entirely silent. It’s cricket filled and humming with the beginnings of summer wildlife.

“You’re telling me. I live with him, Ben. Everyday that little punk shoots up in bed, belting out some classic rock song. ‘ _ Rockin’ and rollin’ Bev. I’m rockin’ and rollin _ ’ he says to me each time I tell him to cut it out.” She’s reaching into, oh Lord, that’s her bra she’s slipping her nimble fingers into to withdraw a cigarette from under her shirt. “You don’t mind, do ya Ben?”

“Not at all.” He says easily, watching as she rummages in her front pocket for a lighter. It’s strange watching a vampire smoke. She was actually half vamp, dhampir, so the setting sun wasn’t ever a threat and even fire itself wasn’t too worrying. Not like a pureblood vamp, who couldn’t stand running water and shied away from silver. Beverly Marsh was made tough, talked tough, but she knew what else she was too.

She was beautiful.

She takes a long drag and tips her head up towards the moon. “It’s almost full. Richie’s probably not feeling too hot.” She notes. “Poor thing, I can’t even imagine what earlier was like for him to be alone.” They don’t dare invoke the name while they’re out and about. An accidental summoning that neither of them are quite ready for. “That Bill boy too, he must have been on his mind.”

“Bill Denbrough, right?” Not many knew him but he knew just about everyone in Derry in some way, shape, or form. Even the Hanlon family, made up of Mike and Leroy and Shirley and Will and Jessica. How many of them had burned? Had anyone been out of the house, away from the farm? Unlikely. It must have known exactly when the whole family would be gathered up, leaving no survivors.

Phoenix, a God damn real phoenix rising up in Derry’s night sky. 

He had seen Richie’s eyes go wide behind those goggle lenses of his when he had said it. What kind of werewolf needed prescription glasses, anyways? Eddie had asked the gangly boy once, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.  _ You don’t need those, you’re faking. _

_ Me? Fake? Never. Not even an orgasm, Edds. _

_ UGH!  _

Eddie had thrown up his arms high in disgust and even then they had barely reached above the top of Richie’s head. 

The tail end of Bev’s cigarette’s got him thinking about it, thinking about fire and flame, thinking about things better left in the basement of the house, locked away.

But he had unlocked them months ago and things had never been the same since. 

“Oh gee, would you look at that.” He looks up at a nice house. Two stories, not counting the basement it more than likely has. “This is Billy’s place right here.” 

She’s got a look in her eye and his stomach churns with it. A light that’s magnified by her lit cigarette. Beverly Marsh was her own woman sure enough.

But God, did Ben wish she was his woman.

Since the moment they had tumbled out from the portal door and she had bared her fangs at him in a frenzied blood lust. Everything in him should have ran from that, especially if you accounted for the fact that there was a wolf at her side and something terrible and dark looming behind them. Run, something in him screamed.

Which twisted into  _ take them _ and run.

That had been December 21st, nearly five months ago. They had thought they hadn’t needed to run anymore, that they could finally settle in. How stupid they had been, how damn foolish! A demon, they had loosed a demon onto the Earth and they had thought that it wasn’t their problem anymore. Hubris, that’s what that had been. Hubris and grief and the blood of Eddie Kaspbrak on their hands.

(More, something in him said. Probably his magic, indignant. More must be dead, surely.)

“Humans.” Ben says in response finally, dragging him from his thoughts. “Sometimes I can’t believe it.” Not of the Other World he meant, just simple flesh and bone untainted by the darkness that followed them. 

“I know.” They all know. There’s a reason that they had a world away from them, with their own politics and rules, away from the messy tangle that was humanity. “You should have seen this one with his little brother.” She points up to their window then. “Innocent.” She says it with such sadness that Ben’s heart aches with it. 

He touches her hand then, the one that doesn’t hold the smoking cigarette. For a moment just their fingertips graze and Ben’s already pulling away, feeling foolish for even trying, but then Bev’s grabbing his hand with a sudden fierceness. “I want to end this.” She says then. “So boys like that don’t have to suffer.” Her grip hurts almost, but he returns it. 

They slip away then into the night, towards the Barrens and towards Hanlon farm, to find what was waiting for them among the ruins.

-

He wakes up sweating, panting, clawing at the sheets of his full sized bed. A child’s bed, one that he always came back to every summer. His feet nearly dangle off the end of it and for a terrifying moment he swears something’s going to reach up from under his bed and drag him down by his feet.

Earlier, he had been so insistent that he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Not ten anymore, ma! But now he’s shuddering in his bed, moments away from calling out to her. He sits up straight in bed then, pulling his sweat stained shirt away from his chest. Calm down, Bill. Just a dream, Bill. You’re an adult now, Bill. With bills to pay and and an education and a future to think of. None of this kid shit. 

Still, he hesitates on the edge of the bed. Twenty one wasn’t that old. Still wet behind the ears, still desperate and struggling to find himself. Caught in a limbo that he had bent himself too far back for, hoping to please everyone. 

“Bill.”

He looks up and sees George in his open doorway. “Bill… I had a bad dream.”

“Y-yuh-you too?” It’s out before he can help himself. George’s eyes widen and he’s scampering across the bedroom floor and leaping on George’s bed. “H-hey n-n-now, Georgie, i-it’s just a d-druh...dreee...a dream. J-just a dream.” 

“But it knew my name.” 

If Bill was writing what George had said, he would have capitalized the ‘I’ in it. It. “It said ‘Georgie!’” His little brother gives a tremulous cry then. “Oh Bill, it was awful. It had these  _ eyes _ .”

Like burning coal, like the Devil’s. The words are moments away from leaping off his tongue but he can’t go and scare Georgie anymore than he already has. “H-hey now, cuh-c’mon. D-don’t t-thu-think ab-bou-bout it no more, George.” 

“...Can I stay for just a bit longer?” George, too, is too old for this. But earlier he had thought back fondly on George’s childlike wonder, so that’s why he sweeps back George’s hair from his eyes and nods without a second thought. His little brother sighs softly and flops onto the bed then, curling on top of the sheets with a murmured, happy sound.

“I’m guh-gonna get a new shirt r-real kwi-kwi-quick, okay?” His earlier fear to step off the bed is gone now, seemingly ridiculous, but still… He takes his time pressing his feet onto the cold floor.  _ Don’t _ , he wants to say out loud to whatever lingers under his bed.  _ Don’t you even try it. _

Nothing comes and he feels so silly. Twenty one Bill, you’re twenty one. Get over it. He goes over to his dresser and digs through until he finds another comfortable shirt. ‘Derry High Athletics’ it states. Maybe he’s sixteen, maybe he’s thirteen, maybe he’s  _ younger  _ even. Eleven and splashing through the Barrens, clambering onto his bike (bike?) and shouting “ _ Hi-yo, Silver _ !” At the top of his lungs, clear as a bell.

Another time, another life.

Another Bill?

No he’s just him. Bill Denbrough, barely a day over twenty one.

“S-scuh-scootch.” Bill’s whispering then. He keeps the door cracked, the warm hallway light spilling through. “You b-buh-better n-not snore.”

“You better not hog the sheets!” George huffs back and then they’re both laughing with it. George goes suddenly quiet as he sinks under the sheets. “...Thank you Bill.”

“D-duh-don’t mention it, Georgie.” He should be thanking his little brother for being braver than him in that moment, for escaping from the hold of his nightmares. 

“Sweet dreams.” 

And as he slips off into sleep once more, moments before it claims him, he has a stark realization that the voice that had bade him sweet dreams hadn’t been George’s voice…

It had been the same voice from his dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! When I realized that one of my favorite chapters to write was coming today over the weekend, I was eSTATIC. worked out perfectly, if I do say so myself -w i n k-
> 
> Getting to some exciting stuff in the upcoming chapters. I'll see you guys next week!

Less than four hours until he went away again.

One AM and he’s side by side with Richie Tozier in the middle of Derry. The buildings themselves were all dark, tall and looming like eldritch horrors in the night. He stepped closer to Richie before he could help himself and of course, the other took note.

“Well hey there.” Richie said in a purring, deep voice. His brows jump before they began to waggle in a provocative fashion. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“I need you to cease and desist, Tozier.”

“Well that’s no fun.” Richie sticks his lower lip out. 

He glanced at the watch Ben had given him. Counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds.  _ Dead boy walking _ , It had called him. That was him alright, living on borrowed time.

“Eddie.” Richie had walked ahead and he stood there, haloed by a dim streetlight. He glances down at the other’s stretching shadow, sure that he’ll see a wolf instead of a boy. But it’s just miles and miles of Richie, coming just short of him. “Eds, are you-”

“I’m… I’m okay.” He shoots forward then until he’s under that same street lamp, glancing back at his own shadow. It’s as sure as Richie’s, albeit shorter. Being invisible is a little too much like being a ghost, he thinks worriedly, no one to see him, to hear him, left to wander aimlessly.

“Eds.”

There’s hands on his shoulders then, first on the sleeves of his shirt and then down his bare arms. “Hey, c’mon, come back to me.” He shudders with it, blinking his eyes up at Richie. There must be something there because Richie’s sucking in a sharp breath and gripping his arms that much tighter. 

Real, the feeling of Richie’s hot hands on him.

Real, the buzz of the street lamp above them.

Real, a scream ( _ his _ ) an echo that bounced back to him from December.

Real, the plot of land that was his grave.

Dead boy walking, dead boy crying, dead boy  _ dying _ .

Not real, he wasn’t  _ real _ .

Slipping, he was  _ slipping _ again!

“Richie.” He gasps out and they’re both falling to the concrete. His knees smart with it, but he’s touching the front of the were’s shirt, clenching the fabric desperately. “Don’t let me-!”

“I’m not gonna let you slip.” Richie’s ridiculously calm. His eyes aren’t even wide behind those goggle glasses of his. “Jesus, Eddie, c’mon, you gotta  _ breathe _ .”

Can he? Without his aspirator? He sucks in a desperate breath and feels the tears begin to spill over. “I don’t wanna go back.” It’s a desperate plea, to Richie, to the universe even.

“I’m not gonna let you, Eddie.” Richie’s clutching at him then and it ought to be too tight, but Jesus Christ, it’s exactly what he needs. He throws his arms around the other, shaking with it, his body this close to becoming undone. “You’re okay, you’re here. You’re here with me now, okay?” Richie, Richie was the only thing keeping him together in that moment and he clung to that, to  _ him _ .

“O-okay.” He whispers. He had always been like this, even before. Blame his mother, blame the way she crowded him and swore that he was a sensitive boy, a  _ helpless _ boy. It was always from a place of love, at least he liked to think it was, but it had been damning all the same. Sweet, soft, helpless Eddie. A less than Eddie, not quite all of him, just like now. 

He looks up then and Richie’s got this unreadable expression on his face. His breathing is a bit more controlled, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to die right here in the middle of downtown Derry. “Eds.” The other whispers.

“Don’t laugh.” It comes out before he can help himself. After all, that’s what happened last time. He slipped and Richie had laughed. He flushes and then he’s struggling to break free of the other’s hold. “N-never mind, ignore that-”

“Christ, Eddie, is that why you’ve been pissed at me all this time?”

“Fuck off, Richie!”

“Not until you tell me.” 

God damn it, fine! When he had first come back, he had been just a ghost. That was it. No one heard him, no one saw him. Ben had thought himself a failure, but then…

He had sworn in the middle of the night at one of the cats (still plural at this time, not quite an entity) had hissed at him. “Fuck off!” He had told it in the middle of a chilled January night.

And Ben had heard him.

There had been a lot of screaming then and amazement and Ben realizing that he had lived with a ghost for the past few weeks. Those cold spots and the cats acting strange all of a sudden made sense! Weeks of that then, of his voice becoming louder, of his hands being able to touch things…

And then the Spring Equinox came and suddenly he was alive.

He would never forget that rainy night. March 20th. He had dozed off in the late afternoon sun, thinking of what he could do tonight to stave off the boredom. Ben had still not followed his advice and they were still without any kind of entertainment system to waste hours away on. Not even a computer in the house! Witches didn’t take to technology all that well. None of the supernatural did, it seemed. When he had awoken, he had sat up...

He had sat up!

He felt his body shift with it, heard the couch underneath him groan with it. He slapped a hand across his chest and felt the pain blossom there. Alive, he was alive! The only thing he could do at that point was scream until Ben came running down the stairs and started to scream himself.

“It worked! It finally worked!” They were jumping around in giddy circles. “You’re back!”

“I’m back!” Eddie had cried back.

And he had been.

Until morning came.

Suddenly he was a ghost again and he had slipped. Slipped for the first time, over and over again into his death, the moments before, the _ life _ before. His agonized screams unheard for hours and hours until he came back when the moon rose. 

Over and over and over.

That’s how most ghosts turned, they learned later. The slip. Twisted in on themselves by jealousy and rage. He had had nearly fifty slips since then. Some of them he couldn’t even remember. Those were the bad ones.

The one that had set the mood for their relationship had been slip number 27.

Richie had never seen him slip before. Ben had, of course, and Beverly a few times, but this one had been bad. Writhing on the floor, screaming as his bones and his flesh lost itself and found itself again. He had been spent by the end of it, curled up on the floor, crying softly. 

“Jesus.” He had heard Richie whisper. “What the fuck was that?” And then a laugh, sharp and barking. 

He had felt the floor open up underneath him at that. He almost wish the house had done just that. Hid him away from Richie’s increasingly loud laughter, the nasty comments that were spilling out of the boy’s mouth.

“Poltergeist level shit, Eds. Wish I would have recorded that!” He’s saying and Eddie’s up and punching him then. It isn’t a good one. It actually ends up breaking his thumb as he catches the bottom of Richie’s chin. Still, he feels good, feels great. He’s never punched someone before. 

“God, Eddie, I was nervous, I almost watched you die! I-I start to ramble…!”

“You never!” He’s punching Richie then, nothing like that first time. It’s tightly balled fists falling against his shoulders, his chest. “You never fucking apologized, you fuckhead!” He’s up then and stalking away from Richie Tozier, from his stupid glasses and stupid face. “Fuck you!” He calls back.

“Eds!”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” A light goes on somewhere and he clamps his lips shut. “God.” He says to himself before he’s stomping off.

Of course Richie catches up to him like that, werewolf lope and and lanky legs making it that much easier. “Eddie, for fuck’s sake, Kaspbrak! Don’t go running off!” 

“You were pretty god damn serious tonight, Richie!” He shoots back. “Didn’t laugh  _ one _ bit when you told Ben about the Hanlon farm!”

Richie groans. “I’ve been working on it. God, you should have seen me when I was back in Other World. I was a mess, Eddie.” A pause. “I still am…”

They’re in front of the Town Hall now. Someone forgot to turn off the fountain and it splashes happily, filling the silence. “I fucking called Bev a prostitute earlier and I still haven’t apologized, so yeah I get it. I’m a big fuck up.” He throws his hands up. “I’m not fucking perfect. Haven’t ever claimed to be.”

“Really?” Eddie says as he arches a brow. “Mr. I’m-the-Perfect-Specimen.” 

“That!” Richie raises his index finger. “Was- God damn it, Eddie, c’mon. Just how big is your fucking arsenal, dude?”

“I’ll blow you out of the fucking water, Tozier.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to put you  _ in _ the water, then.”

“Wait.” Eddie blinks. “What?”

Richie barrels into him then and without any warning, without any time to process what the hell is happening, they’re falling into the fountain with a tremendous splash. “RICHIE!” Eddie shrieks but Richie’s grabbing him and pulling him down. It’s cold! So cold it sets his teeth chattering and he’s fucking soaked and- “Are you laughing?!”

Richie howls with laughter, falling back into fountain. His stupid Hawaiian shirt billows around him, his white tank is transparent and Eddie’s dry mouthed at the fact. “I’m sorry Edds. Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” Richie’s open his eyes then, squinting because his glasses fell off somewhere. “Fuck, c’mere.”

There’s a wet hand on his wrist then dragging him closer and Oh Lord in Heaven help him now because he’s too close to Richie Tozier, too damn close. “I’m sorry.” Richie’s saying then, just beyond his shoulder. “Shit, that’s not… I can’t see you, Eddie.”

He glances around and finds the taped up glasses at the bottom of the fountain. “You need to get these things fixed.”

“They’ve got character.” Richie says, holding out his hand, gesturing for the Eddie to hand them over.

But instead Eddie finds himself leaning in, placing the glasses onto the other boy. Richie blinks, mouth parting. “Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie says in a near whisper, not moving away. 

“I’m sorry I laughed. I’m sorry I’m like this. I just… I wanna put the wolf as far behind me as I can somedays. Be more human, be more genuine, be something you aren’t. That’s all that goes through my head and it just drives me up a wall, man.” 

“I get it.” Eddie says after a beat. “I really do, Richie.”

They had been close before when Richie had hefted him onto his back, but they’re infinitely closer before. “We should go.” Richie’s saying and he should be agreeing because now it’s three hours and thirty minutes until the sun rises and they’ve done nothing but he doesn’t want to.

“Thank you.” He says in a smaller voice and Richie’s smiling then, all teeth, his canines sharper than the rest. 

He wants to kiss that mouth.

He stands instead.

“Let’s go, trash mouth.” He offers Richie his hand.

“Okay, shorty.”

-

Bill wakes up the next day with George plastered to his side.

“H-h-hey bud, c’mon. Wake u-up.”

“Five more minutes.” George mutters and turns over, letting out a little yawn. Bill ruffles his hair and makes a mental note to call the barber. If his parents were that busy, he’d take care of George himself.

He tromps downstairs and finds the kitchen empty, a note on the table. 

_ Town assembly! Your father and I will be back ASAP. Stay inside! _

He looked outside. A pure blue sky, clouds like Bob Ross had painted them. Fuck that. “George!” He yells. “Cuh-c-come on, w-we’re g-gettin’ M-Muh-Micky Dees!”

“Mickey Dees!” George crows. Who didn’t get excited about McDonalds? George snorted a laugh and crumpled up the note, tossing it towards the trash. It was summer, damn it, and he was going to enjoy it. God forbid he keep George from it too.

George’s does a decent job of dressing himself. He’s got on a Boston Red Sox shirt on because it’s the closest major league team that they root for and jeans. Bill himself finds comfort in his Dartmouth pullover and his own jeans as well. The grass is dewey and his lungs feel alive with the lingering morning chill. The drive is easy too, George belted and patting his thighs in rhythm to the song on the radio. Their shared nightmare is a distant memory, miles behind them at this point because of course Derry can’t have a McDonald’s nearby. They’re practically in Bangor by the time they pull up through the drive through but Bill could care less. They buy more than they need, more than they can eat honestly. Pop open the back of his dad’s old Honda and eat staring out at the highway, Bill’s feet on the ground and George’s feet dangling but God they’re getting closer, he wouldn’t be a child anymore soon enough.

“A-Are y-yuh-you excited to b-be done with the f-fi-fifth grade, George?” 

“You bet!” George says, nibbling at his hash brown. “You said sixth grade was your favorite, so I’m counting on it.” Poor George still has a few weeks left of school. That had always been the hardest part about being a kid. That last month, summer awakening around you, school dragging on endlessly.

Bill tips his head back with a laugh and he wraps an arm around George. “G-guh-gonna get y-you a haircut t-tuh-today, and then what George? W-wuh-wanna go to the l-luh...the liiiee-” He shakes his head, restarts. “Th-the library?” In reality he just wants to drive. Just keep driving and never go back to Derry. 

George swings his feet a few more times before shrugging. That’s okay. He’s only ten and a half. Summer days like these probably feel infinite to him, they had to Bill, after all. “H-haircut first, we guh-go from th-there.”

“Okay Bill.” He sighs sweetly, leaning up against him. “...Maybe the arcade.” He says then, a sparkle in his eyes. 

“I t-think we can d-duh-do that, Georgie.”

And it means everything in the world when George wraps his arms around Bill tight and hugs him with all his might. 

They drive back then and he feels his phone vibrate. Has to be his mom. He pulls over, ever conscious of George in the passenger seat. “Hi.” He says. Sometimes he did that, short words to make it easier, to make him feel better about his stutter. There see that, not this time! 

“William!” Oof, his full name! That was bad. He grimaces some. “What did I say!”

“Aw Ma, i-it’s n-nah-naht… S’not e-even noon!”

“Don’t you start calling me ‘Ma’ now Bill. You come home right now!” 

He groans and rolls his eyes. “I-I’m tuh-take…” He growls under his breath. “Tuh-take! I’m t-taking Juh-Juhh…” He swallows against the lump in his throat, feeling his embarrassment and frustration grow. Speak up, Bill, c’mon! “Juh-George t-to g-guh-get a hairc-cuh-c-cut.” He’s almost panting by the end of it, nearly sick with it. This stupid stutter...

“And the arcade!” George shouts. “Tell her Bill!”

“A-And t-then, w-wuh… w-we’re going t-to th-the a-arr-arc-cuh-cade.” 

They’re awful and going to hell because the moment Bill finishes Sharon Denbrough starts to cry. “M-mom!” Bill says, caught between horror and annoyance. 

“Oh God.” George huffs. “Let’s just go home Bill.”

“N-no. M-m-mom. St-stop c-cuh-crying.” He uses the sternest voice he can muster. What had they even said at that meeting? He pushes his hair back from his face, glancing towards the passing traffic. “We’ll b-be home, l-later…Okay?”

“How late?” She finally manages.  
“T-three t-th-thirty.”

“Okay, okay…” She’s blowing her nose. “Your father won’t be happy.”

Fuck him, he’s that close to yelling it, but he bites down on his tongue and shrugs despite her not being able to see it. “Buh-bye m-mom.” He throws his phone at his feet then, a frustrated noise leaving him.

“Bill.”

“Y-yeah?”  
“Why’s mom so crazy?”

“G-guh-great question, George.” Great question, indeed.

-

The mornings and mid-days were the worst time of the day for Richie.

No one wanted to come out. Ben stayed locked inside the house, Eddie wasn’t there, and Bev shied away from the light until dusk came along. So here he was, kicking a rock down the mainstreet of Derry, scowling against the too bright sun. 

They had held a town meeting. He had sweet talked his way into it and stood near the back, listening to the multiple complaints. More children missing, none found, and now Hanlon farm? What had happened? They wanted answers. Was someone coming to get them? Call in the professionals, the feds, the government! That’s what they paid them for, right?

Of course, if anyone were to try that, they’d find themselves listening to the dial tone until they were fed up with it. Their emails would bounce back, their voicemails unanswered. It had a way of doing that. Of making you forget over time. Hanlon farm would become a tragic mistake, one way or another.

Eventually, he got tired of it.

He stalked out into the bright sun, shielding his eyes against it. What the fuck was he going to do today? Last night, just before dawn broke, they all met up at the house and discussed their findings.

No sign of It, which was both good and bad.

Hanlon farm? Nothing, barely anything left but scorch marks in the ground. They had found another cat miles off, barn bred and practically feral, to add to The Cats much to Eddie’s chagrin. “It’s gonna kill me.” The smaller male had said grimly as he stared at it’s matted fur and wild eyes. 

“Maybe we can find a way to talk to it.” Richie said. He was actually partial to cats, despite all signs saying that he should be anything but. “There’s gotta be a spell, right?”

And so that’s what Ben was working on today, so at least they had something going for them. Otherwise, they had spent the night traipsing through Derry with nothing to show for it. No phoenix, no answers, no nothin’. 

He wishes he had taken Bill’s number. Even if he didn’t have his own cellphone, Derry had a stupid amount of payphones scattered around it’s township. He sighs and keeps walking down the sidewalk, glancing up to see-

“BILL DENBROUGH.”

It’s a booming announcement that the other boy apparently hears through the glass of the barber shop. He jumps but Richie doesn’t even give him the time to look, instead barging right in. “My good man!” 

“R-Ruh-Richie!” 

“Richie’s here!?” 

“Denbrough numero two! Hey you!” The barber is tutting and turning George’s head back to the front. “My two favorite people!” 

“Hear that Bill? We’re his two favorite people.” George grins in the chair, his eyes catching Richie’s in the reflection. Richie grins back before he’s plopping down in the chair next to Bill. 

“How was your mom last night?”

“S-scuh-scared, bluh-blubbering t-too.” He folds his arms across his chest. He’s upset, something else must have happened. “W-we’re b-breaking the rules t-today, right George?”

“That’s right.” George’s grin turns devilish. “Mom told us to come back and Bill said no!”

“Wow, it’s like you’re twenty one years old or something man.” Richie claps him on the back. Bill pinkens slightly and he quickly moves to amend, not wanting a repeat of Bev or Eds. “I get it, it can be hard. Good job.”

“T-thanks.” Bill smiles then. One point for Tozier! Crowd goes WILD!

“We got Mickey Dees earlier and after this we’re going to the arcade!” 

“The one that takes only quarters? Well shit, can I join?” Nothing better to do until Ben’s got more information. He doesn’t think It’ll be out about prowling on a sunny day like this.

At least he hopes so…

“Say yes Bill!” George says, bouncing excitedly, causing the barber to snip one piece too short. “Aw jeeze, I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Denbrough, please settle down.” The elderly barber intones and George goes completely still. “Say yes.” He says again, whispered from the corner of his mouth like a ventriloquist. 

Bill’s laughing into his hands then. “O-okay. Y-yeah, y-you can come w-with, Richie.”

“Well hot damn! I’m excited.” And he was. Someone new, someone fresh. Bill Denbrough seemed awfully nice, one of those people who was too good for this world. There was something else in him though, something that maybe wasn’t quite ready to show itself yet, but would come in due time. A strength, a resilience, a natural born leader…

An alpha knew when it crossed paths with another.

He slunked down into his chair, trying to turn his thoughts away from his ‘were side. “D-did you f-fuh-find Bev last n-night?” Bill’s asking.

“Yeah. We’re real close with Ben Hanscom, actually. She was hanging out over there.” Bill looks downright flabbergasted at this information. “What?”  
“B-Buh-Ben Hanscom!” The exclamation causes just about everyone in the shop to turn towards them. Gossip hens, the lot of them!

“Shush! Yes.” 

“But h-he’s cuh-cuh-”

“Crazy?” Richie finishes for him dryly and Bill’s flushing again, but he’s gonna push the other on this one. “Remember how you told me to apologize to Bev?” He hadn’t yet, but that wasn’t the point! Bill nods. “Well I’m gonna ask you to give Big Ben a chance, okay?”

“O-okay.” Bill nods once more. 

“Good. See, that was easy!” He claps Bill on the back then. “You almost done over there, George?”

“I sure hope!” 

“You boys can’t rush a master.” The barber grumbles before offering them all a small smile. “Give me five more minutes and you’re done, George.”

“G-guh-give me y-your phone num-buh-ber.” Bill says then while they continue to wait. 

“I don’t have a phone.” Richie says simply.

“D-don’t have a f-fuh-phone!?”

“You sure do like to announce things, Bill!” Richie barks back after the whole barber shop has looked at them again. “For Chrissake, no, I don’t!”

“How!” Bill exclaims and for some reason, Richie realizes that this may very well feel like when people talked to him. 

“It uh… it broke.” He lies then. Phones didn’t work in the Other World, so getting one had never been a priority. After all, eventually they’d be going back.

Eventually…

“Broke.” Bill repeats. It’s interesting when the other doesn’t stutter. There must be something to it. He rubs at his chin, feeling the stubble there, pondering it. “N-n-no rep-pluh-placement?” He shakes his head and Bill huffs a laugh. “R-Richie Tozier, y-yuh-you’re something else ah-ahl-right.” Bill says, breaking his reverie. 

“The one and only.” Richie says with a grin. George is flying off the seat and running over then. The change in Bill is immediate. He turns his whole body towards his little brother, his full attention.

“Fellas, how do I look?” The younger boy puts his hands on his hips, beaming excitedly.

“Like a million bucks, Georgie!” Richie grins and Bill nods in agreement. He reaches out to ruffle the smaller boy’s hair then, causing George to laugh. “Okay, arcade time. You versus me, what’s the game bud?”

“BurgerTime!” George crows. 

“Oh God, y-you’re fucked.” Bill says in a terrible voice. “George i-is a p-pruh-pro at B-BurgerTuh-Time.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Richie had never, in his life, played BurgerTime so this was bound to be good.

Earlier Derry had been awkwardly quiet, just about everyone packed into the Town Hall, but now it’s alive. So far away from just last night, from the fire, from It. Humans always found a way to go on, it was in their nature. But how much of this was the demon, already washing the worry from their mind? 

“W-Wuh-Watcha thinkin’ about, Richie?”

“Aww nothing Billy-Boy.” He doesn’t know if it’s okay to talk about the fire in front of George. He could handle it, sure, but did Bill want him to? Invisible boundaries, ones that he was getting better at reading every day. They pass the fountain and he can’t help but thinking about last night, the way Eddie had pressed his glasses into his hands, the way he could hear the other’s heart beat. 

“You really seem to be thinking about somethin’ Richie. Are you blushing? Is it a girl!”

“George!”

“I’m sorry. Are you thinking about someone special?” What a forward thinking kid. Richie can’t help but grin. Someone was teaching him right, and something in him had a feeling it was good ol’ Bill. 

“Aw shucks, nah…” Richie’s flapping his hand, rolling his eyes, pshaw-ing them off… but something in him feels like it’s a lot of fuss for not being a big deal. 

Don’t think about it too hard, Tozier.

They’re just about to the arcade when he feels Bill stiffen besides him. “What’s wrong, bud?”

“Buh-Buh-Bow...Buh…” He swallows thickly. He’s scared stiff. For an irrational moment Richie swears that Bill has seen It. He whips around, crowding closer, putting George and Bill both behind him.

There is trouble, but it’s no demon. It’s some asshole that’s staring them down from across the street. “Who the fuck is that?” Richie says. He looks familiar. Like they’ve passed at least once during his months here in Derry. 

“H-Huh-Hen...Henry Buh-Bow...Bowers.” Bill chomps out and Richie can see the sweat standing out on the other boy’s forehead.

“Looks like a real fucking piece of work.” Richie mutters as he watches the boy hock a loogie. “What are we, ten?” He just about shouts across the way but Bill’s pulling him away, George in tow.

“Who was that loser, Bill?” George is huffing after him as they take a back alleyway. 

“Y-you were t-tuh-too yuh-young to k-know h-him, George.” Bill says back sharply. “H-he-he’s buh-bad n-ne-news.” 

“Bill, are you okay?” Richie’s making a  grab for his shoulder. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Nuh-no. I don’t… I don’t w-wuh-want t-to.”

“Okay Bill.” Richie’s shoving his hands in his pockets, glancing back. It’s strange, another person’s fear. It’s so mundane compared to their own mounting fear in the face of the demon, but it wraps around him still, tight as a vice.

It doesn’t loosen until they reach the arcade.

“So what’s the deal?” He’s dragging Bill back as George runs off into the depths of the arcade, black lit and blaring music from the 80s. Sunglasses at Night, Corey Hart, good choice. “Who in the fuck is Henry Bowers?”

“H-He juh-just…” Bill crumples into a racing game seat and Richie sits across from him. “G-Gave me a l-luh-lot of truh-trouble as a k-ki-kid.” It feels like there’s more to it than that, but Bill’s got a haunted look in his eyes and he doesn’t want to push it. 

“Want me to show you how to kick his ass?” And he will. God damn it he will. The wolf in him snarls, hackles raised. 

“I-I juh-just w-wuh-want to st-stay f-fuh-far away from h-him.” 

“Guys!” George pops between them. “What’s the hold up!?”

“Bill’s just givin’ me hints on how to kick your lil butt at BurgerTime.” Richie lies quickly, seeing the way Bill’s eyes bug out.

George’s mouth rounds at that and he brings a hand down on Bill’s shoulder, as furious as a ten and a half year old can be. “You can’t give him cheats! That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Georgie-Boy. That’s your first real life lesson.” He says gruffly, nodding his head. “Now let’s see if Bill gave me the right tips. Who knows, maybe he’s sabotaged me!” He smiles over at the other boy then before he’s picking up George, causing him to shriek in joy. “Here we go!!!”

BurgerTime, he finds out very quickly, is bullshit.

Bill was right. He  _ was _ fucked. George let’s Richie go first, explaining how to play at his side, a devilish smile on his features. “You’re not telling me something.” Richie growls out after a few moments of play, losing his first life in under a minute.

“You just gotta use your eyes, Richie!” George hums some, sipping at a Coke that Bill had brought him. 

“Bill, tell your little brother I am at a serious disadvantage due to my poor eyesight. C’mon George, just tell me!” He’s only got one life left and he hasn’t even beat the first level! 

“Y-Yuh gotta u-use y-your pepper!” Bill finally says.

“PEPPER!?” Richie shouts incredulously, throwing his hands up as he dies on screen a final time. “Who in the hell puts pepper on a plain hotdog!?” He moans, staring at the blinking GAME OVER screen.

“Peter Pepper does, and he’s a master chef. Now move aside, let a pro show you how it’s done!” George is handing his coke off to Bill, who only raises his brow and Richie and mouths “I told you so” before they’re both pulling back from the arcade cabinet, giving George the space he needs.

Little fucker manages to get near almost one hundred thousand by the time he dies. When Richie begins to leap about, screeching this fact, George waves him off. “That’s nothing, Richie. The world record is seven million plus!” Still, George is in the top five of the high scores on this machine. That’s worth something.

“C-Cuh-Could y-you imag-imagine playing B-Buh-BurgerTime for t-that l-l-long, Rich?”

“I don’t want to.” He says, holding his head miserably. “I don’t ever wanna play it again…”

They stick around for another hour almost. Eventually Bill does challenge him to a race on Daytona and Richie becomes their personal cheerleader when both Denbrough’s take to the Ice Hockey table afterwards. It’s nice, the most mundane shit he’s ever done since he tumbled out of Ben Hanscom’s basement portal with Bev and the demon hot on their heels.

By the time they stumble out into the daylight, it’s almost 4 PM and Bill’s got five missed calls.

“Dog house.” Richie informs him grimly and George nods in agreement.

“Aw h-hell.” Bill grumbles. “Sh-she’s n-n-nuts. We b-be-better go, George.”

George heaves a world weary sigh, one Richie can’t believe his little body can manage, before he suddenly finds two of those little arms wrapped around him.

“I get a hug!” Richie announces. “Yesterday you didn’t even say bye to me!”

“You’re not lame anymore!”

“O-Oh… Oh my God.” He gives a weak noise before he begins to fake blubber. “I’M FINALLY COOL.”

“I didn’t say that either!” George snorts and Bill gives a loud laugh at that.

“Roasted, again!  _ Gee-zus _ kid, you’re givin’ me whiplash!” He ruffles George’s hair before he’s pushing him gently towards Bill. “You two git now, ya hear!” Richie whoops and windmiills his arms at them. “Git!!!”

“W-weirdo.” Bill says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Let’s guh-go, George.” 

He watches them make their way down the streets of Derry, sun shining down on George’s auburn flame hair and George’s own chestnut locks. He’s tempted to follow them, to make sure Henry Bowers or whoever the fuck that ass was wouldn’t follow them.

But he’s wasted enough time today.

He’s got shit to do.

-

Beverly dreamed of fire.

She dreamed of home.

The Other World and its darkness. No stars, just black ink sky and the moon.

She awoke silently, blinking into the darkness of her black out curtained room. Her fangs ached in her mouth, her throat burning. Blood, she needed blood.

She slipped out of the bed and into the kitchen, sifting through the fridge until she found her box of blood pouches. Was it a type A positive kind of day? Maybe she’d treat herself to some AB negative. 

She needed some positivity in her life, she thought as cut the top, nostrils flaring at the scent. Dead, dead blood, but it was still blood. She’d have go hunting soon though, eventually her body would start to weaken… 

And as she poured the blood into a cup and placed it in the microwave, Beverly Marsh realized that she couldn’t afford to be weak in the days to come.

She pushed her hair back from her face, absently braiding it as she waited. What were they going to do once they found the phoenix? Would it hold the power to break the curse that had been laid upon them?

They had thought it was a seal upon the door at first. One that Ben couldn’t unspell, put there by the demon. So they had flipped through the old books in the house for days on end until they found another witch outside of Maine. To New York they went, driving through the night in sleet and snow and perilous conditions, herself and Richie not quite close yet, pressed into opposite ends of the passenger seats away from one another. 

The witch had been wary, but she had let them in to her house, and they had laid her hand upon the portal in her upstairs closet, hopeful, praying to some higher power…

And  _ nothing _ .

She had screamed that they had broken it and shooed them out of her house, out into the near blizzard conditions. They found out later that it had fixed itself the next day, when they had finally left the state after they had found some shit motel off the highway.

It had done this. Placed this damning curse upon them, one that they could not break. It was one thing or the other. Either they killed the demon, or the phoenix could fix them.

Right?

The microwaved shrilled at her and she grabbed the glass, throwing it back with a grimace. Positivity, Marsh. Be positive. 

She rinses her glass out, throws it into the dishwasher, studiously ignoring the pile that is Richie’s in the sink. It’s almost sunset, almost time for her to make her way over to Ben’s, but she’s got time and the were isn’t here.

So she sits at the kitchen table and draws.

If there was thing she loved about being here, she could finally make something. Making art, pursuing fashion wasn’t something she had picked up during her time here. No, it had been something she had always wanted. A needle in hand, ink on her fingers, clothing taking shape under her fingers. But she was dhampir, she was made to serve, to protect their pureblood counter parts. 

So she had tucked it all away until she had found her way here.

She still dare not wear anything she made. Still too self conscious about that. So they hung in her closet, untouched. Dresses and skirts and knitted sweaters and hand-dyed scarves. She had tried it all and loved each piece dearly. 

There’s a series of knocks interrupting her and she sighs some. “Come in.”

Richie’s strutting in then. “Honey, I’m HOME~” He kicks his leg up onto the kitchen counter, supposedly posing seductively, but it’s just him combing his hand up his leg repeatedly. “I said-!”

“I heard you Richie. Stop pawing your leg.” Bev says. “How was your day?”

“Fantastic. I met up with Billy-Boy again!” Bill Denbrough, she mused, was a pleasant boy. There was something in him not yet recognized, a strength that had yet to show itself. He’s cute too, that doesn’t hurt one bit. “There was a town assembly earlier.” Suddenly his fanged smile is dying and she’s leaning forward in her seat, pushing her sketchbook aside. “I went.”

He tells her then, the details, the way the citizens of Derry had acted. “We need to find that damn phoenix.” Bev grits out. If they could open the portal, that meant they could seal that demon away.

Ben had told her he’d be working on tracking spells as well as a spell to get the feral cat to talk. Beverly wasn’t entirely sure if either would result in anything, but it was better than them sitting around doing nothing. “So what’re we waiting for?” Richie arches a dark brow at her. “Let’s go, Marsh.”

They’re halfway to the house when Richie bumps their shoulders together. “Hey.”

“Hey…”

“I’ve got a question, and I’ve got like, something else to say too.”

Richie’s being weird. Weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot. She holds out her palm, opening and closing it until Richie knowingly drops a cigarette into it. “Go ahead.” Bev says as she lights the end.

“Okay, so, question… do you know someone named Henry Bowers?”

“Henry Bowers.” She turns the name over in her head, taking a quick drag on her cigarette. “Can’t say I have, why?”  
“Bill just said he was trouble. There was something off about him. He had an aura…” Richie’s lighting his own cigarette as they make their way down the sidewalk. “Okay. That answers that, for now, uh… second thing. The important thing. The uh, the Richie fucked up thing.”

“Richie Tozier. Fucked up!? No!” Bev exclaims, laughing gaily before she’s dropping the act. “Whatever could you mean?”

“I just mean… I haven’t… Listen.” He’s sighing loudly under his breath. “Yesterday I said something dumb.”

“Like you always do?”

“Yes, but this wasn’t funny dumb, or annoying dumb. This was bad dumb.”

Ahhh… she knows where he’s going with this. She stays quiet, the sunset painting their shadows long as they travel east. “Oh?” She hums.

“Yeah like, basically implied you’re a prostitute kind of dumb.” He sighs then.

Dhampirs found easy employment in the sex industry as well. They weren’t fertile creatures, by any means, and they had high resilience and energy. It was just the way of the Other World, where the lines were drawn more distinctly. 

“I do recall that.” She says easily, although remembering it brings a sour taste to her mouth. She flicks her cigarette, eyeing Richie some.

“I...I fucked up. I’m sorry.” 

And of course Richie then throws himself to the ground before her.

“Richie.” She says sharply, glancing around.

He’s grabbing her leg then. “OH BEVERLY MARSH, SAY YOU’LL FORGIVE ME!” He wails and she’s this close to stubbing her cigarette out right in the middle of his big forehead, but God…

She can see the sincerity in those goggle glasses of his, the way that he trembles just so… Oh Richie, she reaches down with her free hand then, pushing his hair back from his face. “...I forgive you, Tozier.” She says fondly and he’s up and hugging her for real then. “Hey, hey! Watch the cig, you dumb ass!”

He steals it from her then, taking a drag of his own. Sometimes she hated him, sometimes she loved him. He was something else, completely. 

They skip and spin the rest of the way to Ben’s place. She lets herself be pulled along, laughing as Richie begins to yell some terrible pop song at the top of his lungs. It’s summer, her heart sings, her blood races with it. Summer was for living, summer was for being wild and free.

They fall into the foyer, Richie clinging to her, the cigarette long forgotten on the sidewalk behind them. “You goon!” She says to him, her stomach hurting from laughter.

“T-tha-that’s me!” Richie pedals his legs up in the air. “Heehehe! Hooo-hoo!”

“Lord, are you two alright?” She looks then and sees Ben standing over them. She wipes the tears from her eyes before she’s grabbing his wrist, pulling him down. “B-Bev!”

She’s not quite sure why she did. Once again, it’s just like yesterday. He hadn’t been smiling and it had been so painfully obvious. Maybe she wanted to stave off whatever findings Ben had made since they had seen them. 

Or maybe she wanted to just be close to him. 

“We’re right as rain, Ben.” She sits up then because he only came down to his knees. “Just foolin’ around.”

“As we always do.” She can feel Richie’s arms around her then, wrapping around her shoulders as he leans in close. Something in Ben’s eyes shutters and suddenly she wants to push Richie off her and close the distance between herself and Ben. 

Her eyes fall to his neck, to the two pin prick scars that decorate his throat. Her fangs feel too big for her mouth in that moment. Didn’t get you get enough blood, Beverly? You shouldn’t want to feed this soon, right? 

“Bev.” Ben is saying her name then and she’s snapping out of her reverie. “Are you-?”

“I’m fine.” She says a bit stiffly, slipping out of Richie’s hold. “Just… just thinking about everything. Did you find anything?”

Ben’s pulling back then and the house is lightening around them. “I found some tracking spells I’d like to try out once Eddie is here.”

“What about the cat?”

“Oh Lord.” Ben’s got this look on his face. “That cat is awful. She won’t stop swearing!”

“You got her to talk!” Richie proclaims and Ben’s waving him off. Not the usual Ben Hanscom wave of modesty. Oh no, this one is prefaced by a grimace and a groan of regret.

“Barely. She likes to scream, and swear, and she bit me earlier.” He holds up his finger and sighs. “She’s a mean ol’ thing.”

“Oh Ben, you probably just don’t know how to handle her.” Bev’s standing then. “Show me the cat.”

The cat, it turns out, is perched on top of the stove. “Hullo, cat.” Beverly says easily, barely able to keep herself from laughing as Ben hides behind her. She had told Richie that he wasn’t allowed to speak to the cat, so help them all if he did.

“Who are you!” She hissed out.

“I’m the sensible one of the group.” Beverly says. “Remember, last night, we found you!”

“Oh sure you did, you found me alright. In my natural element. Then you spirit me away to this witchling’s house that he’s barely keeping together by the seams! I am not going to be your familiar, boy!”

“I’m not asking you to!” Ben moans. “I just want some answers.”

“You won’t be getting them from me. Now piss off! You as well, dhampir! I can smell your spoiled blood from here. And a ‘were! Bah!” Her hackles raise some. “Out, out with ya!”

“This is my house...” Ben says, mostly to himself. Bev can hear Richie huffing behind her and she’s losing ground fast.

“Cat.”

“Girl.”

“We just have a few questions about the fire.”

“Awh, that fire wasn’t natural.” She stalks her way across the stove then, towards the window, tail swishing some. “That was  _ hell fire _ .”

“But they were phoenixes!” Richie says and the cat hisses, baring her fangs. 

“Stupid boy! That’s the point. A pure flame must be corrupted, must be razed! It burned them to ashes and then It burned those ashes too! Nothing left, It dare not leave a single trace.”

“But what about the one who made it away?” Bev says in a flat voice. “Richie said he saw one.”

“That he did. The youngest, the boy.” The cat looks toward the window, towards the setting sun. “And you bet your sorry asses that the demon is looking for poor Mike Hanlon right now, ready to finish the job.”

-

 

_ oh, to be made again! _

_ by fire and by night and by the wind’s poem shrieking through him _

_ a howling terrible thing like himself, indelible on the universe itself _

_ terror and tragedy shaped, through death itself and misery _

_ “you’re gonna shine baby, brighter than the rest.” _

_ yes momma, he did, lit the night up the a  _ firecracker _ he did _

_ now burnt out in a dark place unseeing  _

_ crying out weakly _

_ unmake me, he begged the universe _

_ and in that dark hollow _

_ in that unforgiving place _

_ shook its head gently _

_ and refused his plea  _


	5. Chapter 5

“Bill? Bill...? Bill!”

His eyes snap open and he shook his head slightly, as if he could shake the memory away, do away with it for the rest of his life. 

“W-What?” He manages finally, watching as the kitchen table comes into focus. Both his parents are staring at him and George’s got his right eyebrow perked in question. “I-I’m sorry, I z-zuh-zoned o-out.”

“I asked if you could pass the potatoes.” His mother says again and he’s grabbing the great big bowl, passing it across the table to his frowning mother.

For a handful of moments it’s the clink of cutlery and sound of mouths working. Bill tries to lose himself in it, the normalcy, but then-

Blink

_ The fire _

Blink

_ Beverly’s sharp smile _

Blink

_ Henry Bowers _

Blink

_ “Sink or Swim, you s-stuh-stuh-stuttering fuck.” _

Blink

_ The dream _

_ (Nightmare!) _

Blink

_ “No need to sink when you can  _ float _ , Billy!” _

Blink

_ “C’mon Bill, Come on and float!” _

_ A clown? _

Blink, blink, blink.

_ No, It was a  _ demon _. _

He shoves at his plate then. “Excuse me.” He actually says it without stuttering! But it isn’t a victory, not when he can feel his entire dinner pushing it’s way up his throat. He rushes away from the table and towards the downstairs bathroom.

He barely reaches the toilet before everything comes up with a terrible heave. His shoulders curl forward and God, the tears are immediate as he clutches at the cool sides of the toilet. Another heave, stomach jumping, throat burning with the acidic contents of his stomach.

He gives a choked sob, the violent emesis of his body wracking through him. “God…” He moans, wiping his hand across the back of his mouth, doing his best to not look at what lay within the bowl once he’s finished. He reaches up then, nose curling at the smell, flushing it all down.

For a moment he sat there, head lolling back. He can taste his own sick in his mouth and he ought to stand up and clean it out, but he doesn’t trust his legs, doesn’t trust his own body…

Demon. He had simply thought it in passing when he had related his dream to George’s, but now something in him was certain of it. He hadn’t even remembered what It had said to him upon awakening, but now it was so clear. 

All because of Henry Bower’s leering face in the middle of Derry.

“Bill?” He hears George’s voice on the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Mom’s real worried.”

He closes his eyes and runs a hand across his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat there. “Y-Y-Yuh-Yeah.” His teeth snap together and he has to press his hands into his thighs in order to stop shaking, to the point of it hurting. “All that Mickie Dee’s caught up to me.” He manages a half laugh then, short and forced and all kinds of wrong sounding. “I’ll b-be out s-s-soon, okay?”

“Okay Bill.” He hears George’s footsteps move away from the door and he gives it another whole minute before he’s standing, keeping his eyes on the floor. God, Bill, just pull it togeth-

The demon smiles back at him in the mirror.

He claps his hand over his mouth before the scream can escape him, catching it with his fingers and cramming it back in. Jesus Christ! He fell back against the locked door, unable to tear his eyes away. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Even his writer’s mind, the thing that spurred on his writer’s hands and fingers upon paper with pen, could not describe what  _ It’s _ shape was; only the gleaming white smile centered in the middle of It’s form.

“ _ Bill. _ ” It spoke and his body was weak with it. “ _ What’s wrong? _ ” It  _ tilted _ then, It’s entire being suddenly skewed within the shape of the bathroom mirror. It kept  _ changing _ , so much so that he couldn’t keep up with It. A wolf, a towering giant, a bird with wings that went on for miles and miles, a mass of bulging balloons that threatened to burst…!

A clown then, red lipped and smiling still.

Everything, everything is wrong in that moment.  _ This is impossible _ . His mind insists on the fact as he watches the mirror wash itself in fire and flame suddenly. Hell fire, he thinks distantly. That which Lucifer kept within him even at Hell’s final frozen gate. “ _ Come on now, Bill. _ ” It cooed then and hundred of thousands of hands are pressing against the mirror, palms turned towards him. He hears first.

The mirror cracking.

His eyes dart frantically to the top right corner where he can see a fine line running towards the center. “No.” He gasps out. He dare not turn his back to It, instead his hand fumbling on the doorknob. “ _ Please _ .” It falls out of his mouth then, barely above a whisper. 

The crack runs longer, deeper, he can see it spider webbing out.  _ It’s _ pushing harder, the palms underneath catching on the sharp edges, cutting themselves up into ribbons and beginning to bleed. He tries for the knob again, his sweaty palms slipping off the side. “ _ Please! _ ” He screams then.

“Bill?”

His eyes snap open. 

He’s sitting in the bathroom. He stares forward blankly for a moment before he startles forward. The hands, the mirror!

The demon.

_ It. _

“Are you okay? Mom’s real worried.”

No way.

His breath shudders out of him and he’s hugging his knees to his chest. He watches as the knob jiggles. “Bill!”

“I-I-I’m okay.” He finally forces out. “J-Juh-just… felt a l-luh-luh… l-lil’ sick.”

The knob pauses and he can hear George sighing on the other side. “I’m gonna tell mom you thought her cooking was bad.” There’s just a hint of teasing on the other end before George is continuing. “You sure you’re okay Bill?”

No.

“Yes.” He manages tightly. 

What had just happened? Was he having waking nightmare? Disassociating? He felt his breath, sharp and tight in his chest. Breathe, Bill. What, were you Eddie Kaspbrak or something?

He nearly makes himself sick again thinking about the boy, now dead. Oh God, he was  _ dead _ .

What was happening?

He stood up then, keeping his back to the mirror. Just go, Bill. Don’t think about it, you’re acting crazy. The thoughts were intrusive, pushing into his brain until what had happened earlier seems like a distant dream. He gave a satisfied sigh, glancing back at the mirror with an amused smirk on his features. How stupid, he wanted to laugh. How stupid could you be, Denbrough?

And that’s when he sees it.

The crack in the mirror, still there.

-

 

_ He’s thirteen when the first strange thing in his life happens. _

_ When he first meets his guardian angel. _

_ It’s Autumn and Derry’s ripe with it. Bill Denbrough, of course, doesn’t have an appreciation for this because it’s still a month and some days until his winter break comes along and summer ended on Labor Day for him and he hates it. Hates the cold, hates school, hates his parents.  _

_ He even hates George a little. _

_ He’s thirteen and he doesn’t have any friends, doesn’t have anything going for him. The closest thing he’s got is the table in the back of the library that he shares with Eddie Kaspbrak sometimes, the shared silence between them as they ate their lunches. That’s it though (he had asked Eddie once if he had wanted to come over after school. The boy had vehemently refused, saying his mother wouldn’t have it unless they met. “And you don’t wanna meet my ma.” Eddie had sighed miserably before he slumped off.) _

_ He can feel a pimple growing right between his brows and the urge to pinch it until it pops is very, very tempting. He just pushes down on it, grimacing some at the sharp pain.  _

_ He aims a kick at some leaves on the street then as he continues on, watching as the wet mass of them barely moves under his assault. It had rained the whole morning but now the sun was peeking out, showing through the blaze of color that was the leaves in the trees. He turns his face up towards it, breathing in the cool air.  _

_ Maybe it wasn’t that bad. _

_ But then he feels an arm going around his neck, pulling him in uncomfortably close. There’s a terrible stench that follows. A musky cologne that sits on top of an undeniable body odor. “W-Wuh-Well l-luh-look a-a-at w-whu-who it i-is, f-fuh-fellas!” He hears the voice in his ear, a mocking guffaw. “St-stuh-Stutterin’ B-B-Buh-BUH-BILL DENBROUGH!” _

_ Panic zips down his spine as Henry Bowers tightens the hold on his neck, pressing down on his throat some. “L-L-Let g-go.” He jerked his body left and right.  _

_ “Now where’s the fun in that, retard?” Henry sneers some. He can hear Henry’s fuck face friends laughing behind them. Peter and Patrick and Moose all having a good laugh at his expense. He jerks again, trying to make his body limp, hoping Henry will drop him. It’s no good. “W-wuh-what’s w-wruh-wrong, B-Buh-Billy?” Henry shoves him then, causing him to drop to his knees onto the wet concrete. “Ya on yer period?” _

_ “R-R-Real f-fuh-funny.” Bill says under his breath. That’s a mistake. He hears Henry growl under his breath and a sharp whistle. “W-what?” He looks up. _

_ Watches as Patrick’s foot comes at him, connecting with his side. He falls over then with a cry, curling up on himself, right into the silt and mud and whatever else is on the cold concrete. _

_ “What’s wrong, piss fuck?” Henry circles him. “Did that hurt?” _

_ No shit, no fucking shit. He bites down on his tongue, glancing up at Henry from under his lashes.  _

_ “You got all dirty, Billy Boy.” Henry crooned, picking him up by the front of his shirt. Bill’s feet pedaled some, his eyes going wide as Henry lifted him higher. “Let’s wash ya off, yeah?” _

_ “ _ No _.” The word forces itself out of his body, through his mouth and into the crisp Autumn air. Oh God, no. He can hear them laughing and Henry’s balling the front of his shirt in his hands. _

_ “No?” He cocks his head and there’s a manic gleam there. “Did you just tell me no, Denbrough?” _

_ His eyes flit back and forth in a nervous panic. “I-” _

_ “I think you did, you little faggot.” Henry’s lips peel back from his teeth then as he bares them. A dog, he was a fucking feral dog, the frothing rabies the only missing part to this terrible mask Henry wears in that moment. Bill gave a cry then as Henry began to drag him along.  _

_ “No!!!” Bill’s screaming then, trying to escape, but someone’s hitting the back of his head and he’s falling, he’s falling in black… _

_ He wakes up to the sound of the Kenduskeag. It’s roaring in his ears, a monster in it’s own right. His head jerks up and that’s when he hears the Bower’s gang yukking it up. _

_ “Well morning, sunshine!” Henry crows. “Now that you’re up, it’s time to take your bath!” _

_ Bill eyes the river. It’s not even a river, technically. It’s a stream, but it’s an awful thing in that moment, in his thirteen year old eyes and heart. “C’mon, Billy!” The other hisses, the sweet mocking tone of his voice dropping into a hateful growl. “Let’s go! Don’t make this hard now!” _

_ The Bower Boys are cheering Henry on from the shore as he throws Bill into the freezing cold water. The shock hits him first and he paws at the water, coming back up from the murky dark of it with a gasp. “Aww, do you need some help Bill?” His pants are getting wet, Bill thinks absently. The sun is smiling down on them and Bill Denbrough is thinking of the tragedy that is Henry Bower’s wet jeans and shoes. Oh Lord, help him. _

_ A hand on the back of his neck, dragging him close. “Now c’mon. Let’s try this again!” Henry pushes him down then, into the freezing cold. It’s automatic how his mouth opens to take in the water, like it’s air. But it’s not and he’s  _ choking _ on it, sucking in the Kenduskeag as Henry holds him down. “Whoopsie!” Henry’s pulling him and he’s spewing the river water out of his mouth. “Awh, still dirty! Back in ya go!” Down again, his face slapping against the water. He’s down for fifteen seconds, thirty, his lungs aching with it. Panic sets in. Breathe! In comes the water again, filling every inch of him. He’s down longer and when Henry brings him back up, he’s crying as the water spills out of his mouth and nose. “P-Puh-Pluh…” He gargles, the water still coming up.  _

_ “Stop stuttering and I will.” _

_ He hears himself give a miserable moan and then Henry’s shoving him down again. It burns, Bill realizes slowly. Strange how something so cold could feel like it was burning him alive from the inside out. _

_ “Sink or Swim, you s-stuh-stuh-stuttering fuck!” He hears Henry scream through the veil of water. “SINK. OR. SWIM!!!” _

_ “Henry?” He’s being dragged up again and he gives a weak cough. He was holding it all inside of him, drowning standing up. “Oh Gauwd, you’re gonna kill him!”  _

_ “Good!” Patrick cackles. Only Patrick would be that twisted… “Keep ‘er going, Henry!” _

_ There’s a pause and Bill feels his eyes roll back. There’s a hand being brought down on his back once, twice, and then it all comes back up. River water falling out of him and it hurts, oh God does it hurt. “You fucking retard!” Henry screams at him. “YOU WENT AND DRANK IT ALL UP!” _

_ Couldn’t help it. Bill’s crying now, falling to his knees. Henry’s kicking him then in the stomach, in the side, before he’s dragging him back up onto the shore. “Get fucked, Denbrough!” Henry spits on him then, right on his face, before he stomps away. _

_ He hears them laughing, hears them saying something about how if he went and died here that they wouldn’t be guilty, not one bit. He feels the water dribble out the corner of his mouth. He needs to lift his hands up, beat on his chest, get it out somehow… _

_ But he’s so tired. _

_ It hurts. _

_ He’s waterlogged with the Barrens and it’s killing him, he thinks absently. The place where his childhood began is where it would end. He gave another wet gasp, blinking up at the pure blue sky. What a way to die, he can’t help but think. Under the sun.  _

_ He closes his eyes and hears something strange, something he can’t place in that moment. _

_ A mouth on his. Kiss of death, he manages to rustle up a terrible joke even when he’s about to die. Hands on his chest, pressing down once, twice, too many times to count. The mouth again, two breathes in and he jackknives, suddenly coming up and spewing water out. He gives a terrible gasping noise as the last bit comes out, his body shuddering with it. Drowned, he had drowned and somehow he was alive. He opens his eyes then, sees curls, pale skin, sees a soft mouth that’s parted some. There’s a gasp and he blinks, not for more than a moment, less than a heartbeat and they’re gone. _

_ He stumbles his way up the road. He ought to be on the lookout for Henry and his gang, but he can’t stop replaying the sound, the glimpses he had caught... _

_ When he finally reaches home and walks into the foyer, still sopping wet, moments before his mother finds him, the realization hits. _

_ He had heard wings. _

-

The minute Eddie appears, they’re dragging him out into the night. “I heard it all.” He says when Ben opens his mouth to explain. “Let’s go.” 

They stick together, plunging into Derry’s night. Above them the moon is nearing it’s waxing gibbous and he can feel Richie’s tenseness next to him. It’ll be four days until he shifts. He wants this done before then, God, he wants it done  _ tonight. _

His knapsack bounces on his back as they make their way down the dead streets. Derry is eerily quiet, locked away from the fresh horrors of the fire. Nobody wanted to be out with a faceless danger prowling the street.

Bev’s in the lead, her brow knitted into a glare as they make their way towards the Hanlon’s farm. 

“Eddie!” Richie’s finally saying and they all turn to shush him. “Shit, sorry. Uh, weird question.”

“Nothing new there.” Eddie says dryly and Richie gasps some before he’s poking the other’s cheek. “HEY!”

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t ask it.” Richie’s voice suddenly goes soft, causing Eddie to puff up some. 

“What, gonna play coy now?”

“Well, it just… has to do with… well, with before.”

Oh, it makes sense why Richie may not want to say it then. Eddie’s face is a mask of surprise, as if he couldn’t believe Richie had enough common sense to consider something like that. “You looked stunned, Eds.” Richie says with a grins. “I care about you, you know.”

“Tozier.” The other says in a warning voice. 

“Doubting my love?”

“Doubting my self control, more like it.”

“Oh Eddie,” Richie’s batting his lashes. “So forward! But I’m ready. Take me!” He throws his arms up and out and Eddie’s clamping his lips together, issuing a loud scream through his closed mouth. 

“Boys.” Bev’s groaning and Ben can’t help but laugh just a bit. “Goodness!”

“Sorry Bev.” And his smile slips just like when he watches Richie slip up to her, placing a loud, wet kiss upon her cheek. “I just can’t help it.”

“Loser.” Bev shoves him away with a laugh. She looks back then and Ben can’t help the flush that crawls up his cheeks when their eyes meet. Bev’s not laughing then. In fact, she looks downright miserable, just like she had in the house. 

“That’s us! The Loser’s Club!” Richie spins in place a few times. “I’m the president, of course. Bev, you’re the vice-president. Eddie, you keep the hours!” 

“Puh- _ shaw! _ ” Eddie waves him off, joining Bev further on ahead.

“And me?” Ben says then, wanting to forget how Bev looked at him just moments before. 

“Well, Big Ben, you’re in charge of communications.” Richie wraps an arm around his broad shoulders then. 

“So, I get to tell everyone about how we’re losers?” Ben snorts and shakes his head.

“Yes and no. You make it sound like being a Loser is the best thing in the world, you get people to join, make sure everyone knows who not to mess with either.”

“Don’t mess with the Loser’s Club?”

“Exactly!” Richie grins at him and Ben feels his own smile coming back to his face. “There’s the Ben we know and love. You keep smilin, bud. It looks good on ya.” Richie’s patting his cheek then. 

They had all been strangers once, drawn together by circumstance, and now they all knew how to read him better than a well worn book. It wasn’t exactly the same for him. Sometimes they took him by surprise, sometimes they were so human, other times they were so  _ different _ . Even Eddie had a strangeness to him that Ben could never understand despite the two of them living together for the past five months. 

“Ben.” That’s Bev, calling his name so sweetly. He looks up then and they’re so far ahead, so far away… He takes a deep breath before he rushes to meet them. “What did you say to him?” This is directed to Richie with a slight acidic tone.

“Nuthin!” They’re getting out to the country now, or what constitutes as country in Derry, and the night is alive around them. 

“I was just dreaming.” Ben says amiably and Bev’s smirking just so, causing him to blush (again, nothing out of the usual there…)

“Save that for when you sleep, Ben.” He can see her fangs when she smiles and he can’t help but touch his neck when she looks away, fingers absently sliding across the two pinprick spots that decorate base of his throat.

“Are we there yet?” Richie’s moan breaks his reverie. “I’m tired.”

“You could have slept, ‘Chee.” Beverly reminds him, none too gently.

“I’m sorry, I had to get my ass kicked at BurgerTime by a ten year old.” He blinks then, adjusting his glasses. “Ten and a half. Pardon me.”

“BurgerTime!” Eddie says then with a gasp. “That games rigged!”

“Oh God, right?” Richie says. “God awful! And pepper, on a hot dog!?”

Eddie’s laughing then and Richie’s got a smile on his face that could just about split it in half. “Would you look at that! They’re not fighting for once.” Bev slides up to him. “Kind of wish I had a phone.”

“You know Eddie would demand you delete the evidence.” Ben bumps their shoulders together, feeling daring, feeling alive under the moon, as far away from the night when It tried to break into his house as possible. 

“True.” She bumps back then, her bare arm against his and it’s magic. So much that he can feel the universe lean in, so much like House, as if turning its ear to get a better listen to the steady beat of his heart.  _ ‘I love you, I love you, I love you _ ’ it says with every beat. So why is it when it’s so true in his heart of hearts that he can’t just  _ say _ it?

Because he’s weak, and he knows one of these days Beverly will leave him. Richie too, and maybe even Eddie. And he’ll just be Crazy Hanscom again…

“Ben.” She says his name and he turns to her. Her lips part, her fangs on full display. She’s beautiful. He wants to tuck the errant curl that frames her face behind her ear. “Are you-?”

“C’mon losers!” Richie’s crowing then. “We’ve got a tracking spell to lay!”

“That’s me.” Ben chuffs a nervous laugh then. “I uh, I hope it works.” He adds a bit despondently at the end. 

“Ben. You gotta stop doing that.” Bev huffs then and then she’s doing it. She’s fixing  _ his _ hair! His eyes go wide as her hand works through his locks, pushing it back from his forehead. “This whole… doubting yourself thing. You’re amazing.” Her hand, cool and soft, traces down the side of his face. “You have to trust yourself or your magic  _ never _ will.”

She’s right, but it’s so scary. Magic had been, according his mother, the reason that his father had died.

She never told him. He had went years unknowing, but it had found its way to him as time went on. Once he had touched his small, chubby fingers into his mother’s garden soil when he was five and the flowers had sprouted instantaneously. He had a knack for finding lost things, for opening up to the correct page number every time, before it had even been called out by his teacher.

He hadn’t known until he was eighteen, when a letter showed up in a script unknown to him, addressed to him. 

_ It is time. _ It said _. _

Nothing else but a key, a plane ticket to Maine, and an address. He had brought it to his mother then, asking her what any of this meant.

“Oh Ben.” Her voice had broken then and the tears had spilled over.

She told him then of their magic, the way she had repressed hers over the years. “It killed him Ben.” She said between clenched teeth then. “Killed your father.” She broke down then, sobbing violently into her hands. How? Why? What did she mean by that? But she refused, or maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to say it, to give it life again after burying it years and years ago.

She had told him to go then. She had money saved, this is why she had told him to take a gap year before he began college. Something in her had known, in a way, that this would happen. Magic, something in him said to that. 

It was the Universe, making itself known. 

“I’m trying, Bev.” He said in a small voice. “I really am.” 

Her fingers curl some and he can see her gaze trace down to the scars at his throat. His pulse aches, her pupils dilate some. 

( _ her breath, hot on his throat, as she pressed her tongue to his pulse and let her fangs  _ slide _ in to him _ )

“We should go.” She says in a low voice then and he manages a faint nod. Go on then, Ben. Go on…

They stay quiet then as they reach the farm. It’s appropriate, Ben thinks. They shouldn’t be goofing around in a place like this, ridden with tragedy. There’s almost nothing left, just the giant scorch mark in the ground. He swallows then, runs his sweaty palms down his sides. 

“C’mon big guy.” Richie’s saying. “You’ve got this!”

“Richie!” Eddie hisses. “Shut up!”

“ _ You _ shut up!”

“Both of you!” Bev says then. “Before I knock you out cold.”

Ben moves to the middle of it. There’s a dark, forbidding energy here. One that shouldn’t be fooled with. And yet he finds himself kneeling on the burnt ground, pressing his palms to it. 

“Merry meet.” He says outloud.

It lashes back, nearly knocking him onto his back. He steels himself against it, pulling his knapsack into his lap and digging into it. “Bev, Richie, Eddie… I need you to stand there, there, and there.” He points at three cardinal points. North, East, and West. “And take one of these.”

They’re all holding a candle then. “Should we light it, Ben?”

“Not yet, Richie.”

“What about the South?” Fire, she meant. He looked up then with a frown.

“It’ll take care of itself, Bev.” He says heavily. 

They all nod then. Eddie to the east for Air, Bev to the north for Earth, Richie to the west for Water. He stands in the middle of the circle and turns to Eddie first, beginning the spell. “I invoke Air.” He pictures the wind whipping, its eerie high scream, the way it tore across the empty space that had once been Hanlon Farm. He knits his brow then, placing a calming hand to its shapelessness. It takes to him and the flame of Eddie’s candle lights, causing the halfling to startle some. He turns to Bev then, their eyes meeting across the darkness. 

“I invoke you.”  A plea to the scorched, dead Earth beneath them. It shrinks back, away from this death and tragedy. Back, come back he calls it. Come back and grow once more. Hesitant at first, there’s only a dim beginning at the base of Bev’s wick. Ben hesitates, but then Bev’s kneeling, pressing her knees into the dirt. 

“It’s okay.” She says to it and the flame flickers. “You can take your time.” It takes to her then, snapping to life. She smiles and looks back up, nodding at Ben, spurring him on.

“I invoke you.” He turns then to Richie, who’s looking strange in his hoodie and his shorts, looking entirely too human in that moment. Rain, brought to them on the wind, gracing the earth with it’s cool bliss. The other elements speak to it, coax it into existence alongside him, causing an quick and easy flame to appear upon Richie’s candle. The were’s eyes widen, a smile appearing as he mouths the word “cool...” to himself quietly.

Finally, Ben turns the south. “...I invoke  _ you _ .” He doesn’t even have to picture it, think of it as he whispers the words… There’s a moment of quiet and then-

 

_ A sacrifice  _ The flame whispers to him as it kindles upon the point  _ We require a sacrifice _

_ No, you can’t  _ He says to it without words. It hisses at him then.

_ You take and take and take but when will you give?  _

_ Later, I promise…! _

_ Your promises mean nothing!  _ The fire screams.

The flame grows and spreads, starting at the Southern point and whipping its way past Eddie and Richie and towards Bev. She’s still kneeling as it flares around her, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as it leaps up and up around her. Ben’s own heart stops in his chest at the sight of Bev surrounded by flame, but he wets his bottom lip and continues despite his mounting fear.

 

_ We will take, then. Such is the nature of fire, of flame. _

_ No, not Bev, not  _ her _.  _ He feels his breath short, a panic setting in.

_ Then who, or what, or when witchling? _

_ I don’t know! _

_ Then we must. Such is the price of your demands. _

 

He opens his mouth to say something, to warn her.

“I trust you.” She whispers above the roar.

  
  


_ “Your hair is winter fire. January embers, my heart burns there too.” _

 

The voice, a child’s voice, startles him because he can swear it’s  _ his _ voice from years and years ago, but he’s never thought or heard those words before. It’s too late to truly process it  through because the fire swallows Bev whole in that very moment. He hears Eddie scream, Richie scream. Is he screaming? Yes. Words. “DON’T BREAK THE CIRCLE.” It leaves him in a roar. The flames spread out makeshift wings and then-

Something flies upwards then, an arching path that shoots off into the distance. He watches the tail of this self made comet. It disappears then and he’s hit with the sudden realization that he hasn’t even looked at the spot where it came from. Oh God, Bev! Why hadn’t he done anything to stop it? He stumbles forwards then, his vision washed by the inferno. “Bev!” He screams hoarsely. “Oh Jesus,  _ please _ .” He lurches forward then, his larger form falling into the gravity of the movement, barely allowing himself to pull up and move forward. 

His hands reach out and he touches something and he hears a gasp. Bev gasp. There’s a terrible smell and he clenches his eyes shut, watching as spots swim across them. “Bev!” Burnt, she was burnt and it was all his fault, he just knew it. His stomach heaved at the idea, at the mental image his twisted mind was able to conjure ( _ skin peeling away like birch bark, paper thin and pale, leaving nothing left but the  _ memory  _ of Bev. _ )

“Ben, I’m fine… Oh God, I’m… I’m okay.” His vision washes clear then and he can see her, unburned, unchanged. 

Wait, no. Something  _ was _ different.

“Your hair.” He says softly, reaching up to touch the singed ends. Inches and inches gone, leaving it near her chin. And even then, she’s going to have to cut it… Bev’s carding her hands through it, causing locks of it to break off and fall to her shoulders. “Oh Beverly.” But it isn’t a tragic musing. No, it’s an awe-filled murmur. She’s radiant in that moment. Their own personal phoenix, reborn.

Her head turns then to the north, where the beacon flew off to, her finger drawing down the line of the sky.  _ My heart burns there too _ , the words come to Ben again. Oh, does it ever. Alongside Beverly Marsh’s own. “The fire told me where to find him.” She says then, her green eyes alight in the dying embers of the circle. “And we best go now because It’s hunting tonight too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOH BOY IT'S GETTIN SPOOPY -EYEBROW WAGGLE-


	6. Chapter 6

 

Bill Denbrough refused to sleep that night.

The images from earlier are still plaguing him, the crack in the mirror, his memories threatening to spill over into real life and drag him down. His knees are drawn up to his chest as he watches the night sky outside his window. He can swear the moon is glaring down at him, watching him like an odd eye in the sky. He should close his blinds, curl under the covers, forget everything that had happened…

He should write. Maybe that will sooth his mind. Write it all out and turn it into something conquerable on paper. He was his own master when it came to his stories, no surprises there. The idea begins to grow on him the more he thinks about it finally he decides that yes, he will write. He reaches over to his backpack, pulling out his notepad, glancing out at the night sky again.

That’s when he sees it.

Something goes flying across the sky. 

He presses his hands against the cool pane of the window, watching as it streams it’s way to the west. Towards… God,  _ where _ was it going? 

Stupid Bill! It didn’t have a purpose. Shooting stars were without direction and cause, simply streaming across the sky until they broke up into infinitesimal bits of stardust. Something in him is insistent though that this one has a purpose that it’s racing towards. 

_ Go on Bill, go and see what lays beyond the horizon _ . He hesitates for only a moment, trying to place if it’s the demon’s voice or not, but the trail is beginning to fade and he’s throwing himself out of his bed, notebook forgotten.

Sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, his feet shoved into his sneakers. He casts one glance down the hall towards George’s room. He was tucked away, safe and away from whatever the hell had come to him hours earlier. 

Nevermind that they had shared the same nightmare.

Nevermind that.

He’s slipping out into the night then, careful of the door behind him. The moment his feet hit the grass, he’s sprinting towards whatever it is. He’s trying to place it, draw Derry back up in his mind as he passes under street lamps in complete silence. Down Witcham and towards West Broadway. The Barrens, it had passed over the Barrens. The realization is sudden then, nearly causing him to skid and crash. 

“The Ironworks.” He says on a desperate exhale, his lungs already burning. But there’s no time for that, only time to pump his legs and arms and race towards the dilapidated, broken down ruins.

-

Richie leads, Bev follows, and Ben and Eddie take up the rear.

They’re flying towards the Ironworks, like bats out of hell. He had always wanted to run like this. Maybe he had, once upon a time, before his mother had sicced his aspirator on him. You can do that, Eddie! You can’t run like that, play like that,  _ be _ like that Eddie! You’re going to give me a heart attack! You’re going to  _ kill _ me, Eddie!

The last thought is nearly paralyzing but he continues on, spurred on by something greater in that moment than the past. The future unfolding in front of them rapidly. He had felt it the moment the blaze had gone up around Bev. A moment of pure panic, of simultaneously understanding that this was beyond their control, that they couldn’t help whatever came next.

Fate, that was Fate, Eddie.

They’re passing the Standpipe on the right and Eddie spares it a glance. It towers above them, strange and alien in the dark, and for a moment Eddie can swear it’s going to come crashing down on them. By why would it? What a ridiculous thought! But he pulls Ben along that much more quickly, doing his best to ignore the winded way the other wheezes next to him. He had been like that once…

No. Not now Eddie. You can’t do this now.

He watches how Richie and Bev race ahead. Dhampir and werewolf, now almost side to side. He still isn’t used to seeing Bev without the ribbon of red hair flowing down her back. Now it’s a curly mass that bounces with every step off her scalp, a joyous exclamation in an otherwise God awful situation. 

“Almost.” Ben manages out on a haggard gulp. “Oh God, tell me we’re almost-!”

“Almost Ben!” Eddie says to him, his hand now on the larger male’s shoulders, pushing him along. They couldn’t afford to slow down, not with It hiding in the shadows, scurrying ( _ multi limbed, turning in over itself again and again in the dark _ ) towards the same goal. 

And that’s when they find the strangest sight.

Bill Denbrough, standing in front of the Ironwork Ruins.

The name comes to him suddenly, from somewhere before. He gives a gasp then because he’s not supposed to be here, supposed to be alive much less, but it’s too late because Bill’s turning to all of them with wide eyes.

“E-Eddie?” Bill says.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything really, when they hear it.

A slow chugging, groaning noise. The sound of machinery starting up in the distance.

They all whip towards the ruins of the Ironworks then and Eddie can only give a startled gasp as they see that it’s in perfect working condition, as if the fated explosion ages ago had never occured. The smokestack blows out a furious flume of black into the night sky, and slowly a rain of ash comes down upon their heads.

“Jesus Christ.” Richie says miserably, pushing his glasses up his nose, as that will help him truly see what lays before them. A piercing whistle sounds from inside and every window is lit then, throwing them into a strange, murky spotlight.

Bill’s falling back on his ass then, his mouth falling open in horror. Eddie doesn’t blame him, his own heart beating furiously in his chest at the sight. “I-I-I-It was...h-h-how… wh-what’s huh-hu-happening?” 

“Why are you even here?” Bev says and Bill looks up at her, eyes wide in his pale face. “Jesus, Bill, what are you doing here?!”

“I-I saw… I s-suh-saw!” He’s gulping his words out. Another memory from before, Bill Denbrough at the front of the class, slipping and falling over his words like a toddler. Oh, how everyone had laughed! Not him though. Eddie had pressed his folded hands together on top of the desk and he would wait until it passed. It was like his asthma, how he would have to take the aspirator out, jam it into his mouth, release it and give it a moment’s notice to reach his lungs. So he does just that, just like he always did. He  _ waits _ . Bill looks up then and their eyes meet and his tongue loosens. “I-I saw th-the l-luh-light in th-the sky.” He finally pants out.

“You saw it?” Richie says, cut off by another whistle, deep and low now. They all move a bit closer together, all staring up at the building. “Ben!”  
“Y-Yuh-You’re B-Buh-Ben Hahn-Hanscom?”

“The one and only.” 

“A-And E-Ed-Dee..” He stutters over the word and Eddie looks him right in the eye at that moment. “A-Ar-Aren’t you d-duh-dead?”

“Yeah, I am.” One last whistle then, as low and loud as a foghorn. It shakes the ground beneath them, traveling through their bones. “There’s also this entire clusterfuck, so tonight is just full of surprises, isn’t it Bill?” He reaches a hand out to the other boy then, surprising just about everyone.

“...W-what’s h-huh-happening?” He repeats, a bit clearer this time. He’s got a death grip on Eddie’s hand then, palm to palm, his own cool and dry compared to Bill’s sweating palm. 

“We’re looking for something.” Bev says then and Eddie can see the way he takes in the other’s hair finally, his panic receeding. “And there’s something else in there, something  _ bad _ .”

“ _ It _ .” Bill says and the word itself is a terrible magic. They all go stiff at the weight of it, the implication behind it. He knew, oh God, Bill Denbrough knew of It too. You could see it in the way his eyes went hollow and haunted, the way his throat worked after he had named that terrible being. 

“We can’t waste anymore time, we need to go!” Richie barks then and Eddie’s finally breaking their joint grip to round on the werewolf. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Eds. I know that fuckin’ look.”

“The ‘Richie is a dumb fuck’ look? Is that the look you’re talking about?” Eddie spits back, going up on his tiptoes to get up in the ‘were’s face. Richie’s brows slant over his eyes, pulling together into a fierce glare. 

“More like the ‘I’m Eddie and I’m a stubborn fuck’ look!”

“It’s a trap!” Eddie throws his arms up at the Ironworks. “Why else would It have just spelled it back like that?! You aren’t from here, you don’t get it! The Ironworks exploded years and years ago. We go in there and then what, Richie? Tell me what then!”

“We find our fucking phoenix, is what. He’s in there, and It’s going to get there first.” Richie actually snarls then and Eddie can see his canines, the moonlight flashing off of them. “And then what, Eddie? Do you want that blood on your hands!?”

“I don’t want any blood ANYWHERE!” He screams back, pushing at Richie then. “You fucking go in then. Be my guest.”

“We all have to go in. There’s no way around it.” Beverly’s storming forward then. The moment she nears the doors open in and away from her and the building  _ heaves _ . A mouth, Eddie thought, it was like a mouth, looking to chew them up and never spit them out. She faltered for a moment before glancing back. “Bill. This is real. All of this happening right now is very,  _ very _ real. I can’t promise you that you’re going to be okay, that you’re going to wake up on your bed, but I can promise you this. If you come with me, right now, I’ll tell you everything.” 

“Bev!” Richie says but Bev whips her head towards the were, baring her fangs. There’s no doubt Bill sees them, there’s no fucking way that he can’t. “Jesus, woman! Fine! Alright! Breaking the first rule but see if I care!”

“Ih-Ih’m...I’m in.” He says, stepping forward. “I-I d-duh-don’t know what’s h-huh-happening but…” Bill looks up at the Ironworks then. “B-Buh-But It c-cuh-came to Juh-Georgie, s-so it needs t-to b-buh-be stopped, w-whatever It is…”

“Attaboy.” Bev says as he takes the place to her left. “I meant it when I said it, we all go in.” 

Ben moves then, pulling up to Beverly’s right side. He and Richie both are left standing on the dead grass, not looking at each other, not looking at Bev either. 

Richie moves first, breaking their silent stalemate. Oh God, he doesn’t want to do this. Do what, Eddie? He digs and digs down to the root of what keeps him from stepping forward, from joining his friends.

He doesn’t want to  _ die _ again.

And how could any of them survive this? The building moves again, sighing, as if it were growing tired of waiting for them. He moves forward then on shaking legs, feeling his breath quicken in his chest. 

You’re going to  _ kill me _ , Eddie!

You’re gonna  _ die _ , Eddie!

It’s his mother’s voice still, but infinitely crueler. He feels himself freeze, only a step away from mounting the stairs, joining alongside his friends. “Eddie.” Bev traipses forward then, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Hey now, hey… it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-no.” The word shudders out of him. “That thing is gonna kill us.” It already killed him once, he knew. 

Knew what it felt like to have his innards torn out from his stomach.

Impossible, he had thought as it began, as the blood came splashing out of him and onto the pristine snow beneath him. I should be in shock, I should already be  _ dead _ . It didn’t make any sense as to why he could  _ feel _ it. Feel as his skin and muscle was torn away, revealing his large intestine (and his small intestine, his spleen and his pancreas, he thought, his thoughts completely lucid.) It had torn at them then, digging claws into the mess and dragging it all up, up, up. He had seen it, the blood and gore glistening off of it. 

“Don’t.” He had said in a weak voice. It had cocked it’s head at him then before it had pulled up more (oh God how was there still more of him to take?) Scooping it out and holding it in It’s lap. Something in his brain insisted that he should be sick at the sight, but then he realized he didn’t have anything to be sick with! He had almost laughed then, but It was breaking his ribs, breaking  _ him _ , all all he could do was scream…

“Eddie.”

“Please Bev.” He was crying then. “I don’t wanna die again.”

It hadn’t even started with that. It had started with the demon finding him on the first and last night he had ever snuck out, almost halfway home. It was just before Christmas, the 23rd, and he had forgotten his gloves. He dare not risk going back at this point, though. God forbid he wake his mother…

His coat had barely been able to keep the chill away and the snow was so high it had soaked his jeans through up past his ankle. Still, nothing was going to keep him away from this, not when a cute boy had smiled at him in the library and had slipped a piece of paper into his planner with hearts decorating the ripped loose leaf, bearing an address for a nearby gay club. 

He had made it and it had been one of those under 21 nights, so they had let him into the humid warmth of the club with smiles on their faces and he had lost himself in it. He almost hadn’t found the guy from earlier, but then there had been a hand on his waist, pulling him, and God… everything had felt so right in that moment. His aspirator long forgotten, his mother’s voice muffled, his mouth kissed for the first time, and then the second, and then a third time yet.

He had never wanted to leave.

But then the last call had been made and the boy had slipped a number into his back pocket (“Call me.” He had said sweetly against Eddie’s cheek, lips and tongue and teeth finding his once more in a final kiss. “And Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”)

He had pulled it out of his pocket and was smoothing his fingers over it again and again when it had happened. 

There was a sound then. Something not of this world. He had paused for a moment and cocked his head, not quite believing it. Fear hadn’t even taken root yet. Instead, he was simply confused by it, by it’s un-realness. 

Again, the sound. It registered this time and his whole body erupted in goosebumps. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to place where it had come from, his brain conjuring all sorts of terrible images in that moment. 

He saw It then.

A glimpse of a shadow.

An absence of space.

(And It’s eyes, oh It’s eyes  _ burned _ )

He ran then. Through the snow, through Derry, his breath whistling out of him with every panted exhale. How stupid he had been to not see that It had been corralling him, forcing him towards something. 

The Barrens.

The Kenduskeag. 

He had been blind with panic when his foot came down on the snow covered ice, the world a dark blur around him, and there had been that terrible sound again.

The sound of ice breaking.

It should have been firmer, should have held him, but this was before he knew that It was a demon, that It could do whatever It wanted to. He had felt the freezing kiss of the water and something in him prayed that this would be it. That whatever was chasing him wouldn’t follow after and that he could die with the memory of a kiss on his lips. 

But then there had been a clawed hand on the back of his jacket, dragging him up, up, up and back into the frozen night air.

And straight into a living hell.

He’s crying now. Shaking with the memories and clinging to Bev. “It’s gonna kill you all and It’ll make me watch.” Something in him knew this. “I  _ can’t _ .”

Suddenly they’re all there, even Bill. Ben’s touching his shoulder and Richie’s watching him unceasingly and Bev’s saying something. He shakes his head, forces himself to listen. “We’re not going to let It do that, Eds. I promise.”

Promises meant nothing when you were dead.

But then again, that was only half the time for Eddie Kaspbrak, after all.

“Okay...” He whispers. Then once again, his voice stronger. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Richie says then, a light in his eyes. “Are we gonna get our phoenix, Eds?”

“We’re gonna get our phoenix, Richie.” A pause, a wobbly smile attaching itself to his face. “And don’t call me Eds.”

And together, the five of them, step into the waiting entrance of the Ironworks and into whatever hell It has made for them.

-

“Oh Christ.” Richie feels the words fall out of him.

The first few steps had yielded nothing entirely too strange. It was a simple factory, like the kind you saw in History books in middle school, framed in sepia and with children and wide eyed women staring back at you.

But then they fully entered.

It was done up in some strange fashion. Pastel ribbons streaming down from the high rafters, the foundries stuffed with plasticky, pastel grass. Something in him perks at a sudden sight and oh, God… a rabbit. That was a rabbit racing underfoot.

“Juh-Juh- _ Jesus _ .” Bill says as all around them children’s laughter erupts. “T-th-this is…”

“The day of the explosion.” Eddie finishes for him. “But it’s  _ not. _ ” 

“It can do whatever It wants.” Ben says. They’re all standing back to back now. “Bill, I know this is gonna seem crazy, but-”

“N-no, I’ve s-suh-seen It. It… It d-did the same t-thu-thing in m-my b-b-bathroom.”

Bathroom, Richie wants to ask, but then singing starts around them. Children’s voices, all falling over one another, jubilant and carefree. 

_ Here comes Peter Cottontail, hop-ping down, the bunny trail! Hippity-Hoppity, happy Easter day! _

“That’s not annoying at all.” Richie says as it begins again. “Fuck me, really? The ol’ ‘nursery rhymes are scary’ schtick? Talk about amateur hour.”

“Shut  _ UP _ Richie.” Bev knocks a fist against his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“So, what happened here?” Ben asks as they continue through. “What are we up against right now?”

“Wuh-well, b-back in the 1900s, th-there was a b-buh-big event.” Bill looks to Eddie then, who’s throat bobs. He’s doing a lot better than he was before though, Richie notes. His skin doesn’t look translucent anymore, there’s a high color in his cheeks…

“Easter egg hunt. They closed the whole thing down for the day. At least, they thought they did…” An explosion that killed nearly one hundred, almost all of them being children. “Whole thing went up in flames, they found remains… all over Derry.” He presses a hand to his chest, gulping in a deep breath. “It was bad.”

“None of this should be on, should it?” Richie says as a low hanging crucible crosses over them, casting them in a shadow. “And I saw a rabbit.”

“A real one?” Ben’s looking back and forth then, under the great machines that line the floor. “Jesus…”

“It’s up to something.” Bev says. She’s grabbing Bill’s hand with her right and Ben’s with her left and Richie’s annoyed to see both boys flush at it. God damn it Bev. He looks back at Eddie and the halfling raises his brow some, rolling his eyes a bit. “We stick together.”

“Of course It’s up to something.” Richie grumbles under his breath as he grabs onto Bill’s hand. “Come along, Eddie. It’s Wabbit Hunting season.”

“Fuck off.” Eddie says sharply, but he’s slapping his hand into Richie’s and they’re all being pulled forward by Bev. 

Again, the chorus repeats on himself, but something’s off… Richie cocks his head, trying to make sense of it.

_ There goes Peter Cottontail, running down the bunny trail! Hippity-Hoppity, oh please run away! _

Bill’s eyes are wide in his pale face and Ben’s glancing around. Something deep within the Ironworks groans and suddenly one of the crucibles tip, a spill of molten fire coming out of it. They can only watch as it smooths over the fake grass, and oh God, the burning smell is  _ awful _ . Richie’s nose scrunches up at it and Bev waves her hand in front of her face.

“C’mon.” He urges Beverly on and they’re walking a bit faster now, past dusty machines that turn on as they pass, their inner workings chugging along. “Jesus, how does It have this much power?”

“Wh-wha-what is It, anyways?” Bill says. 

“A demon.” Ben confirms, his voice a dry whisper. “From the Other World.”

“Other World?” Another time that Bill doesn’t stutter. Guess they were committing to this whole Tell Bill Everything deal. He didn’t like it one bit, but apparently he didn’t have a say in the situation either. “I-I-I had a f-fuh-feeling It was a d-duh-demon.” 

“You said It came to Georgie too?” Bill nods at that and Bev swears under her breath. “I don’t like that. Not one bit.”

“I don’t like any of this.” Richie muses and Eddie kicks the back of his shins. “OW.”

Another crucible tips and they all jump away as the molten fire sloshes out on the side. The laughter is a bit higher, a bit sharper… “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Richie finally says. “How are we going to find him here, anyways?”

“I think we need to undo the spell. Change it back.” Ben says after swallowing heavily. “I-I don’t know how we’re going to do that, but It… It’s gotta be holding all of this together somehow.”

_ Here comes Peter Cottontail, coming here to make you wail! Hippty-Hoppity, he will make you pay! _

The song ends abruptly, the children’s laughter cutting out halfway through. For a moment, the entire Ironworks goes eerily quiet. Richie feels the wolf in him bristle. Something’s coming, something’s coming…

An egg rolls out in front of them. It’s pink and yellow and blue and gives a sudden, sharp cracking noise. They all watch, a mounting horror blooming between them, as something begins to push its way out. 

Blood and pus bubble out of the fine crack, and God, there’s  _ too _ much of it. An egg that size couldn’t hold that much, but it just keeps pooling out and spreading towards them. It cracks more and a strange shape wriggles out, maggot like.

“Oh God.” Eddie moans. “Oh God, what is  _ that _ ?”

A sopping wet gloved hand begins to push through. Too small! Too damned small, his brain continues to scream at him as he watches silently. The arm pushes up then, a white mass of slicked white fur. It pushes the eggshell further apart and they all begin to inch away slowly, not daring to breathe. 

An ear appears first, rolling out like a measuring tape before it straightens.

Then a black eye, rolling around and around and around until it settles on _them_.

“ _ Ehhh, what’s up, Doc? _ ” It whistles.

Eddie moves first, dragging them back violently. The lights above them flicker as they race away from It. Someone’s screaming and he can’t tell who it is (maybe it’s the children who had been singing before, even) but all he knows is that they need to get  _ away _ . Far, far away from It  _ NOW _ -!

“ _ Surprise! _ ” It appears in front of them like magic and he almost screams. It’s in a pure white rabbit suit, like the kind Richie had seen someone wear at the mall when he and Bev went back in April. It even has a sharp little vest on and a golden chain that Richie is entirely sure attaches to a pocket watch. It’s nose twitches and It stomps its right foot excitedly. “ _ I’m so glad you could all join! This is going to be so fun!!! _ ” It gives a crazed giggle then. They’re all frozen in place as It begins to hop in place. “ _ They all  _ died _ last time. Do you think you can do better? I sure hope not. _ ” 

The lights above them begin to flicker more and the building groans loudly. Eddie’s sobbing next to him and Ben and Bill both look like they’re about to be sick. “ _ It’s a race to see who can find the phoenix first! Oh, what fun, what splendid fun. But this place isn’t what it used to be. _ ” It’s becoming more decrepit around them. Breaking down. One of the crucibles is falling then and they can only watch as it plummets before hitting the ground with a terrible, damning  _ BOOM _ . “ _ Who do you think is going to win? Five children or… me? _ ” It bats It’s cartoon eyes innocently. 

“W-wh-what happens if w-we win?”

It gives a sharp cock of it’s head, the rabbit head held at a painfully sharp angle. “ _ Win? _ ” It coos back. “ _ You? _ ”

“Y-yeah, y-yuh-you h-huh-heard me.” Bill says, stepping forward. Richie slaps out an arm to stop him before he can move any closer. Suicidal, he had to be God damn suicidal! “I-If it’s a ch-chu-challenge, w-wh-what hah-hahp-happens if we w-win?”

It holds a gloved hand up, tapping the pink button nose on the end of It’s face. “ _ Well, Billy, I suppose I could give you and your friends some alone time _ .”   


“Y-you g-give  _ everyone _ some alone t-time…”

It blinks again. “ _ Oh? _ ”

“U-Un-Underground, f-fuh-for a week.” 

It titters again. “ _ Oh my! You’re very brave, Bill. _ ” It’s tone drops then and more lights shut off around them. “ _ Some would call that being  _ stupid.”

“D-Duh-Do we have a deal?”

“Bill!” Bev shrieks and Richie’s trying to pull Bill back, but he’s already struck his hand out and the demon is taking it. 

“ _ We have a deal, Bill. _ ” It whispers. “ _ Sealed in blood _ .”

“Bluh-Blood?” But It’s cutting into his palm then with It’s teeth. Oh God, It’s  _ teeth _ ! It’s a real rabbit’s head now with orange incisors that are biting into Bill’s palm. He screams then and tries to yank his hand away, but the demon’s hold is strong. “ _ Blood, Bill, blood! _ ” It cheers, It’s mouth smeared red. Richie can only watch in horror as It bites down on It’s own gloved hand then, slapping it against Bill’s bleeding hand. “ _ A deal is a deal is a deal! _ ” It laughs then and suddenly the whole Ironworks goes dark. 

“ _ And you’re going to regret it. _ ” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the huge gap in chapters. I have a lot of ongoing projects and school, so there probably won't be weekly updates anymore on this, but I still wanna tell this story so THANKS FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING!!!

_ A deal is a deal is a deal… _

It’s voice echoes in the rafters and suddenly the lights come on again and there’s children. So many children around him. All dressed in neat outfits, with curls and bows and shined shoes and shirts duck tailed behind them.

His hand throbs and he looks down to see the blood dripping to the floor. He looks up then and he’s alone. “B-Buh-Beverly!” He calls out, the first name he can think of in that moment.

“Shh!” A small voice comes from his side and he’s going out of his mind because that’s Georgie standing next to him, but younger… Probably six or seven. He’s wearing a paper boy cap and he has a smart little bowtie at his throat and he’s smiling despite himself. “You have to be  _ quiet. _ ”

“Juh-Juh-George.” He gulps out. “Wuh-What are you duh-duh-doing here?”

George rolls his eyes then. “It’s the  _ Kitche-en-er  _ Easter Egg hunt, you nosebleed!” Bill touches his face then with his good hand, brow slanting when he finds that there’s nothing there. 

“H-Hey, what did you muh-mean by-” His words trail off then because George is racing away from him. “George!”

“It means you’re stupid!” Another small voice says. “You grown ups just don’t get it!” It’s a small girl then, hands on her hips. “You better not steal all the eggs or I’m calling shuckster!” 

She looks familiar too. Ginger hair falling around her shoulders in fine curls. “Buh-Bev?” He says then as the realization hits.

“The one and only Marsh!” She’s eleven and wearing a fine green dress. “Besides my mommy and my daddy.” She has a haunted look in her eyes then but she’s spinning away. A golden circlet winks back at him as it bangs against her ankle, already so far away.

What the hell was going on?

“Only thirty more minutes!” A voice above them rings out. He looks up then to one of the iron walkways, eyes narrowing some. A finely oiled mustache gleams above the announcers large mouth as he swings his cane back and forth, his pinstripe vest a pristine white and red as it stretches across his barrel chest. Their eyes meet and oh God...

It’s the demon.

His eyes are yellow and jaundiced and his mouth is full of sharp needle teeth. “ _ Thuuurrrteeeeeh _ more minutes~!” He calls out in an auctioneers voice before he’s drawing his skimmer hat down over his face, his legs kicking out in a strange dance. “Is everyone having fun!? I sure am!” He throws his hat up and spins then, laughing wildly. “The winner gets a  _ spuhshuuul  _ prize! Whatever could it be!?”

His hand throbs again and he grits his teeth against it. It looks at him then, head cocking sharply, to the point of breaking almost. “Better hurry up, Buh-Buh-Billy boy! If one of those kiddos finds it first, you lose, and I win!”

He startles back a step then and he’s racing down through the labyrinth that the Ironworks has become. He sees flashes of other half familiar faces. An obese boy crawling on the floor, peering under one of the machines. Two boys, hand in hand, one with goggle glasses and one with an aspirator jammed into his mouth. Ben and Richie and Eddie, he realizes, all characterictures of themselves. They’re all here. It can’t be them though. 

Right?

“Hey!”

He skids to a stop then, head whipping around until he sees him. A boy both sharp and frail, with a mess of curls haloing the crown of his head and a thin mouth. For a minute Bill looks around before he looks up again, brow raising some.

“You’re looking for something, aren’t you?” He says then. 

“E-Eh-everyone is.” He can hear shrieking laughter in the distance. Time… how much time did he have? "It's a hunt."  


The boy drops to the ground then and Bill sees the book tucked under his arm. “But yours is something special, isn’t it?”

This has to be a trick. For a moment he’s tempted to shove the young boy away, but then he’s clenching his fists by his side. 

“Mu-Maybe…”

“...Follow me.” His voice is a whisper before he’s flying off. Bill stares for a full moment before he races after the nameless child, skirting past every body that stands in his way. He eventually catches up to the other, feeling winded and confused and not quite sure what to expect in that moment. “Took you long enough.” He arches one of his fine brows.

“H-h-heck.” Bill mutters darkly. “W-wh-what’s going on?”

“Trust me.” He’s got his hand on a doorknob and Bill can see the sunshine streaming through. He looks back, wariness settling along his his spine, causing him to go tense. “C’mon!”

“I-I don’t…” Bill swallows then. “I kuh-kuh-can’t…”

His brow slants and he’s throwing the door open wider and that’s when Bill sees it. The smoke stack. He’s only ever seen it in pictures in this kind of pristine condition. He had ventured to play in it once in his childhood, staring into it’s great gaping entrance, into the endless darkness that his childhood mind had conjured.

“It’s a secret.” The boy says as he steps into the light. Bill blinks and suddenly he’s not a boy. He’s taller than Bill and glowing and in that moment he swears he sees them.

Hears them.

( _ wings _ )

He blinks again and suddenly he’s gone. The door is closing, the smoke stack disappearing, but then he puts his foot forward and catches the door with it. Secret,  _ secret-secret-secret _ . His heart beats with it, with a strange certainty that can’t even be tainted by his mounting fear.

The phoenix is in the smoke stack.

He steps out into the open. It’s a bit cooler than the May night he had left behind (or ahead?) Derry in the spring wasn’t ever lenient and this one was  _ biting _ . He glances back at the Ironworks once before he’s running to the looming ‘stack. He reaches it then, putting his hand against the cool stone. “G-Guh-Give me a sign.” He says to the smooth stone.

He doesn’t even realize it’s his injured hand at first, still covered in his blood and the demon’s. The image warps then and suddenly it’s warmer, it’s night time, it’s…

The present.

His eyes go wide at the sight and he’s stumbling back and away, watching as the sunlight comes streaming down from the sky and the smoke stack filters back into existence, feeling absolutely real and true under his hands.

Magic.

Blood magic.

“Show me.” He says, not even noticing how he doesn’t stutter as he smears a swath of blood across the stone then. The image wavers again and he’s standing at that dark entrance in the present day. 

“H-hey!” He calls into the void then. 

“ _ H-hey! _ ” His own voice calls back. Or maybe it’s the demon, or maybe it’s something else. Dark and foreign with magic.

“HEY!” He calls again and this time, it doesn’t come back to him. Maybe that strange something swallowed it whole, he thinks with a nervous laugh. Some monster waiting for him in the darkness. “...D-Do not… Do not go gentle…” He whispers to himself then before he plunges into it, that terrible, waiting gloom.

A blink later and he’s climbing up a spiral staircase. Smoke stacks didn’t have stairs, did they? But in this reality (unreality?) they did. He keeps his right hand against the side, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Up and up and up, unendingly it seems. He’s running out of time, the demon must be playing a trick on him, god damn it. He stops and looks up, seeing the near full moon shine down on him.

“...S-show me.” He says to it again.

The image wavers and something calls down to him.

_ This is not your magic to use, child. _

The moon. The moon is speaking to him. Slow and sing song and undeniably female. 

“I have to.” His voice is clear then and he can hear it. It surprises him with it’s lack of stutter but he forces himself to continue in a slow, calm voice to match hers. “For my friends.”

_ My children _ the moon sighs then and it’s beautiful.  _ Even the Sun’s is mine, sheltered in my embrace. _

The firebird, the phoenix, Mike Hanlon himself…

“Help me help them.” He whispers up into the sky.

_A child of God helping the Children of Night…_ The moon, the sky, the night muses with a soft laugh. _How sweet!_ _I will grant you this._

And he’s falling.

He doesn’t even scream. He doesn’t think he _ can _ . He’s falling and falling and finally the world rights itself and he’s standing on his own two feet. The end of the smoke stack is horizontal and collapsed, at a dead end in the present again. He feels his frustration bubble up because this had to be It’s final trick. He’s lost…

But then he sees it.

The pile of embers at his feet.

It’s almost nothing at this point. Cinders and ash, with just a faint glow coming from the heart of the pile.  He drops to his knees then, dragging it into his hands, cupping it in his palms. “No.” He says to it then. “No, no, no. You can’t.” Reality shifts around him then and he’s at the bottom of the standing smoke stack. “ _ You can’t! _ ” He says to it then, teeth clenched and veins bulging with a desperate insistence. 

“ _ I’m scared _ .” A small voice says to him then. Startling him. “ _ Scared and alone… _ ”

He swallows against the lump in his throat then, looking up to the moon. It doesn’t have anything to say to now, does it? He looks back to his cupped palms then, to the gray soot held in them. “...But you’re not alone.” 

“ _ My mama and my daddy _ …” A small voice says then. “ _ It killed them. It killed my whole family _ .”

“...I know…” He says then in a soft voice. “I know It did, and I’m sorry. But you’re not alone. We’ve been looking for you.”

“ _ Really? _ ” It brightens just some. Hopeful...

“Yes.” Bill sighs then and brings his hands to his chest. It feels right to press the remains to his heart, as if he were letting what was left of Mike Hanlon listen to the steady beat of his heart. 

Trust me, trust me…

There’s a warmth then and then there’s fire kindling in his hands. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t burn one bit. It gusts up from him then. Fire and fury and righteousness and with a cry like a pure ringing bell, up to the sky. “Don’t run away!” He screams. “Please!” The entire smoke stack is a whirlwind of fire and he kneels in the middle of it, tears streaming down his face.

“ _ I’m done runnin’. _ ”

Glory. It’s the first thought Bill has as he watches the torrent of flame collect itself into the fire bird of lore. It tips its head up and releases another cry unto Derry and the magic unspells itself around them. Then it is turning into something lean and tall and boy shaped and it’s Mike Hanlon standing in front of him then.

“H-Huh-Holy shit.” Bill says, his damned stutter back apparently. 

The dark skinned boy manages a faint grin before he’s falling back, lashes fluttering as he faints.

He doesn’t manage to catch him in time but he’s gathering the other boy into his arms, checking for his pulse. Out cold, but alive. He feels a nervous laugh bubble out of him then, and he’s almost crying in relief. Found him, found him, he had won!

But... where was everyone else?

He can’t leave Mike like this. He grabs the other boy then and hefts him up, half carrying, half dragging the other out into the tepid May night. The Ironworks is back to being what he’s used to. Dilapidated and ruined, but the rest were nowhere in sight. 

He stares at his right hand then, nostrils flaring. He presses his thumb into the cut, causing the blood to well up. “A deal is a deal is a deal!” He says, watching as it spills over and onto the ground. “So o-own up, you fuck.”

“Such language!” It’s there then. Still in his barbershop quartet get up. Bill grits his teeth some. “I see you found our friend!”

“I d-duh-did.” It tips his head towards him then and he bristles some. “W-wuh-where are they?”

“Beverly? Benjamin? Richard? Edward?” It muses some, pacing back and forth. “Playing their own games, I suppose.”

“W-we duh-duh-didn’t agree t-to that!”

“We didn’t  _ not  _ agree to that, William.” It’s eyes go flat then with annoyance. “First rule of making a deal with a demon, or the fae I suppose, is making sure it’s fool proof. And you, my dear boy, are a fool!”

“You suh-suh-son of a  _ bitch. _ ” He starts forward then and Mike gives a weak noise. It’s brows arch some and It looks entirely too human in that moment. It’s uncanny, really. 

“We agreed that I would leave everyone alone for a week. You didn’t say when, by the way, so that also was a major failure on your part.” It begins to tick it’s fingers off. “And yes, while I offered to not bother you and your friends, that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t harm them first.” It grins then, teeth jagged bits of glass and metal and God knew what else. “A deal is a deal is a  _ d-duh-deal _ , Billy Boy.”

“G-G-Give them b-buh-back.” He hisses out.

“Give me the phoenix and I will!” 

He glances down to Mike and back to the demon. “N-No.”

“Well, too bad!” It pouts then, tapping it’s wing tipped shoe. “I guess that’s that then.”

He holds his palm up to the other then, the blood still trailing down his wrists. “D-d-dew… Do you e-even know h-hu- _ how _ I won?” He says in a deathly quiet voice.

The demon stills and before giving an avian cock of It’s head. It’s curious, he can tell. “Y-yuh-your blood.” Bill says then, feeling infinitely triumphant as it gapes at his response. “And I stuh-still have some left.”

“You little  _ fuck _ .” It snarls then and lunges at him. Bill’s brow slants and he’s imagining yards and yards between them. The world bends around them and it’s not as much as he likes, it must be almost gone, but it’s still  _ something _ . 

“Give them back.” It comes out of him then, deathly calm and unstuttered.

“...Or what?” It snarls then and It’s got a dog’s face then, frothing with rabies. Henry Bowers, he remembers then, remembers his fear of the other years and years ago. It shifts and it’s the clown then, grease paint leaking obscenely. “What are you going to do, Billy Boy?”

Something. Anything. He realizes then that it’s been a bunch of big talk and he has nothing to show for it. 

Fuck.

“...I’ll cuh-cuh-call something down th-that can d-d-defeat you for real, you son of a  _ bitch _ .”

It actually looks scared. It grits it teeth then with a growl, fear dissipating. “Fine.” A snap of It’s fingers and they’re all there, dropping from the sky above him. They all land in a terrible heap and it takes everything Bill has to not rush to them. “Is that to your liking, Bill?” It says in a flat voice. Anger, It’s furious with him for outsmarting It.

“...Y-yes…”

“I’ll be going then.” It turns on it’s heel. 

“For a week!” Bill calls after the demon. “Starting now.”

“ _ No! _ ” It’s in his face then. Ginormous with wild hair and glowing eyes and gnashing teeth. He screams and falls back on his ass It begins to crawl towards him then, each fist on the ground causing a small tremor to run through the ground. “ _ NO. NO NO NO!!! YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT. YOU FUCKING MAGGOT, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! NO!” _

“NOW.” Bill screams back and thrusts his right palm against It’s face. There’s a moment where he’s afraid that he’s used up all the blood magic and It’s going to bite his arm off with that gaping awful mouth, but then It’s eyes go wide and it gives a damning howl as It simply pops out of existence.

He can’t help it. He slaps a hand towards his inner thigh, sure he’s pissed himself, but it’s just sweat. His whole body is trembling. He lets Mike go finally and goes to Richie, shaking him some. “R-Ruh-RICHIE!” The other boy’s lashes flutter some and he looks up then.

“Bill.” The other says as he touches his face. “Are you…”

“Y-yeah bud, I’m real.” He’s dragging the other close then for a handful of moments. Richie gives a soft noise then and clinging back. “I-It’s ruh-real…”

“The phoenix?” He finally chokes out then and Bill points behind him. “Holy fuck dude.”

“H-Help me wake everyone else u-uh-up.” He pushes his damp hair away from his face then. “W-Wuh-We’ve got s-serious shit to t-tuh-talk about.”

-

Apparently, Bill and Richie deem him the next to wake up.

He feels hands on his face, on his shoulders. “Ben, Ben! Big Ben!” Richie’s calling. His voice is a rope to which he clings to in the dark, letting it drag him back to the present. 

He startles awake with both boys staring down at him. “Wh-Where am I?” He feels like he’s not quite inside his own body. He can feel the way his head whips back and forth of his own accord, the way his hands tremble, but those don’t feel like his own actions…

“You’re with us, bud.” Richie smacks his cheek gently. “You’re right here.”

Was he? He inhaled deeply then, looking around him. The Ironworks is no more. Bill’s features are drawn tightly and Richie looks as much a ghost as Eddie ever could be. “The phoenix?” He whispers then.

“Right there. We did it, Ben.” Bill says, smiling some. Richie’s shoving him then, guffawing loudly.

“We did it?  _ You _ did it Bill. You cocky son of a bitch! You made a deal with that fucker and  _ BUH-BAM _ ! Winner winner chicken dinner!” Richie’s flapping his arms around then, crowing like Peter Pan. 

“Holy shit, who’s yelling?” Eddie’s blinking then, sitting up and rubbing his head. “Oh, oh of  _ course _ it’s Tozier.” He groans when he sees Richie racing around. “I’m in hell, aren’t I?”

“You’re right here in Derry, short stuff.” Richie’s picking him and spinning him Eddie’s screeching at him. “Oh Eddie, I never thought I’d say this but I missed ya, I really did!” 

“Y-you guys…” Bill’s going over to them then as Eddie shoves the other’s lips away from his cheek, screeching that Richie was going to give him rabies or cooties or maybe even fleas if he kept it up! “Cuh-C’mon, this is s-suh-serious…”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little victory lap, Billy. God, I still can’t believe it.”

“I still can’t believe you’re  _ holding _ me, Richie!”

“Oh Eds, I could never,  _ ever _ let you go…” Richie bats his lashes.

He’s looking past them then, at Bev, her chest working slow and deep. He goes to her then and something strange and silly in him insists on kissing her, like she’s Sleeping Beauty and he’s Prince Philip. He touches her shoulder instead, grabbing it slightly. “Bev, hey B-”

She jackknives up into him and her eyes are as black as pitch.

“BEV!” There’s a small cry as Richie drops Eddie and the ‘were skids towards them, catching Beverly in a headlock before she can lunge. Her nostrils flare and her fangs are jutting out and she’s screaming, screaming a banshee’s cry into the dead of Derry’s night. “NO. C’MON MARSH. CALM  _ DOWN _ .” 

“W-Wuh-What the fuck!” Bill sees it then, the fangs, her  _ eyes _ . “W-whu-what’s wr-wruh-wrong with her!?” 

“She’s hungry.” Ben says in a sober voice “She needs to feed.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, has it really been three months?
> 
> IT HAS.
> 
> Lots of shit happened. I had school, I started working on TWRP Big Bang, I was still working on SLM of course. I found out who was anonymously harassing me on tumblr PLUS- I got a job, and an apartment in a new city. Talk about EXCITING! 
> 
> Anyways, I've missed these kids. About half of this chapter was done back in March and I decided to finish it off. I'll try to get back to weekly updates but NO promises. Anyways, enjoy. I missed you IT fandom

It’s December 21st and Ben Hanscom’s grandmother passed away nearly three months ago and now the house was dying too.

He had spent a handful of years under her tutelage and for what felt like nothing. He was worthless, he was a good for nothing ‘hedge’ that would never learn the real craft. These, of course, were things his grandmother hissed at him over bubbling cauldrons and over burning candles. “The Hanscom line ends with a  _ male _ .” She would mutter to herself. “Human father and all… a damn mule! That’s what you are! Your mother never listened, never, ever listened to me and look at what it’s gotten us! She’s lost her magic and you never had any to begin with.”

But he did, this was just her way of pushing him, as if she could bully the potential out of him. Still, it was stubborn, and he was nervous, and it was just day after day of hell until finally she passed away five years later in her own bed.

The house dying had been subtle at first. It creaked a bit more, the dust accumulated a bit faster, the cats didn’t show up as often. He had thought it had just been him, and in a sense, Ben was right. It was him. It was his lack of magic, the wards on the house left over from his grandmother fading away over time, it’s architecture eroding away. But now he knew that it was going to die tonight if he didn’t do something.

A witch’s house was the base of their power. A sanctuary in which the elements were tamed, some of a witch’s strongest spells were laid in their own homes. There were three options at this point, the first two intertwined. He could leave the house and let it die on it’s own, but the magical blowout would be devastating. The Coven would hunt him down for letting something like that happen. So, next option. Die with the house. Swear a blood oath to it and take on its death. The physical house itself would collapse and slowly, over time, people would forget he and it had ever existed.

Option three- fix  it.

Option three it was.

He’s in the basement, staring at the portal. Each Witch had a portal in their home. It was their connection to the Other World. He had never been near his grandmother’s (his now, Ben supposed) but he could feel it’s power from the top of the stairs. Fix it, Hanscom. Just fix it and be done with it. 

Four candles placed around the floor at the cardinal points, an athame poised in his right hand against his left palm. Blood magic was some of the strongest magic there was. It was your essence, very being, second only to your soul. Soul magic was dangerous, and was only to be performed by The Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone.

“Merry meet.” He whispered to the house, staring at the door at the end of the room. “I...I need you to… to accept me.” He voice shook as he pressed the tip of the knife into his palm. It was a pinprick pain at first, but then he felt it spread across his hand, race down the veins in his wrist. A soft whimper fell out of him as he pressed his hand to the dirt floor. “I-I know I’m not good at this, but I-I need you to… to do this. Please.” He added the last part hastily, cringing at himself. Ask, you were supposed to ask, never demand things of magic. 

_ You’re afraid _ . He heard it then as the first candle lit.

_ You’re doubtful _ . The second flame came to life.

_ You’re selfish _ . The third then, guttering some.

_ You’re nothing _ . The fourth then and it was a low and dying flame that came into being.

“No, I-”

_ You do not call upon the craft, upon your magic, with light in your heart Ben Hanscom. You call upon it in hiding, in shadows.  _

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been trying!”

 

_ We know this. And yet what would be for the greater good? You are afraid to die, so you demand we bow to your request. _

 

“I-I didn’t mean it like that!” How callous it could be, this Universe, this magic which wended itself through every facet of life. But how could it not be when it was forgotten by so many despite all it had done? That is why you ask, because it has been scorned, it has been forgotten, and it needs to be honored and revered. That’s what his grandmother had told him, and yet he hand been unable to heed her very words even now when he needed it most.

 

_ Child.  _ It’s voice when cool then _. We are not yours to wield. We reject you. _

 

Each flame dies until only fire is left.  _ Call upon us again, after reflection. Meditate upon your follies, and we will come to you again in time.  _ It flickered then, and was gone.

 

No. No, no, no. He could feel the house shake around him then. “Please.” He said, trying to draw upon that well of power in him. Nothing, there was  _ nothing _ -!

Something.

There was something beyond the door.

It was an intrusive thought. A kind of tickle at the back of his brain that began to devour everything in it’s path until he could only think of one thing and one thing only.

The door.

He stood then and moved towards it in a trance like state. There was something beyond there, something that could help him. He just had to open the door and let it out.

(Let  _ It _ out.)

( _ letmeout _ )

A word rose to the forefront of his mind then. No, it hadn’t risen up, he thought with a laugh as he turned the knob.

It had  _ floated _ .

He looked at the inside of it then without really seeing as the door opened. Black, only black. A whistle wind call that came up ( _ floated _ ) from the pitch of it. He leaned in then, into the portal, into the Otherworld, the word on the tip of his tongue.

_ Call me _ , It said from the dark depths, unseen.  _ Sever these ties and name me, Witch. _

_ “Chöd.” _

It fell out of him into that infinite blackness and the image wavered, like a rock falling into a pond. Rippling out and out into unseen places. It laughed then, low and terrible, and that’s when Ben Hanscom came to.

Something was moving then, darker than that black, larger than it too. It didn’t make sense but he realized that It didn’t need to. Whatever It was wasn’t something that abided by the rules of any reality that he knew. He went to close the door, his fear rising, but it was too late.

 

_ Thus begins the ritual of Chöd. A feast for demons and a feast for gods.  _

He screamed then and went to slam the door shut but the Portal held itself open, letting It spill out and into the basement, into his world. “ _ A feast _ .” It said in a guttural human tongue then. “ _ I will have a feast _ .” Ben gave his own heaving gasp as he looked upon It, blood spilling over his lip without warning, tears streaming down his face. “ _ You are in my favor, witchling. I will save you for last. When I have swallowed the Sun and slain the Moon, when this place is dry and dead, when you are all that is left on this wasted planet... I will come for you then _ .”

Demon, It was a demon, oh God he had summoned some kind of demon...

“I-I banish you.” He could feel his blood magic surge weakly as his voice trembled. “Y-you can’t-”

“ _ Oh but I can and I will. I will take and take and take what you have given me, witchling, and it will be sweet. _ ” It laughed and the entire house shook with it. “ _ No don’t make me angry, boy. I’m more than happy to start with you _ .” It was becoming smaller then, human sized. “They thought they killed me, but I can never die. I am Death Itself, made Light.” It was muttering nonsense to Itself then. “That fuck, that God damn fuck made himself sick over and over again and I’ve never felt better. Serves him right.”

It whipped towards him then with an awful smile, tipped up towards It’s dead eyes. He could feel himself crying more at the sight, at the demon Itself. “Forgive me, I’ve been asleep for so long. But you, you woke me!” It’s touching him then, somehow at the end of the room but somehow also mere inches away from him. “Oh no, don’t cry Ben. You’re a big boy. A big,  _ big _ boy!” It’s hands on his belly then, shaking it obscenely, giggling some. “Big boys don’t cry, do they? Especially when they’re given  _ presents _ .” It’s voice drops then and he can feel something digging in to his skin. “Right?” Claws? Needles? What was that? Oh God it stung it hurt please just stop oh  _ PLEASE! _

Finally he manages a whimpered nod and It gives a satisfied noise before It pulls away.

“Now, I will be taking my leave, but I think you have some guests.” It laughs then. “I hope you’re ready, they’re quite the handful. Thank you again, Benjamin. I hope to see you soon.” It’s shape is finalizing and it’s so ridiculous, so unbelievable, that he can barely hold back his laugh at the sight of It.

A clown.

It was a clown.

“Good luck~” It sang and with a snap of It’s gloved fingers, It was gone.

-

“Bev!” He’s framing her face with his hands then. She gives a terrible growl, snapping her teeth at him. “Bev, c’mon now, it’s me.” He shifts his hands up then, into her hair, surprised to see bits and pieces were still falling out from the fire before.

“Ben.” Richie says in a warning voice. He pulls his hands away, instead moving to pull at his collar. “Jesus, Hanscom.” The ‘were says in a soft voice. “Here?”

“Yeah.” He casts a glance towards Bill, who’s looking at the scene with wide eyes. “She can’t wait, I’m not going to let her.”

Richie sighs through his nose before he’s adjusting his grip, grabbing at her arms. Bev twists some, a terrible hiss issuing from deep in her chest, but Richie’s unrelenting. “I’ve got her, Ben. Let’s make this quick.”

His fingers pass over the two pin prick marks at the base of his throat before he’s nearing her, watching as Beverly’s fangs jut out, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. “It’s okay Bev.” Ben murmurs. “Take as much as you need.”

Richie loosens his hold just so, just enough for Bev to jerk forward, to latch her mouth against his neck and bite down, down, down until she breaks the skin. He can hear Bill suck in a surprised breath at the sight.  _ This is it, Bill _ , he wants to say.  _ This is what you’ve gotten yourself into _ . But Bev is gulping down the first mouthful of blood from his veins and his mind is gone.

The first time, Richie hadn’t held Bev back, or maybe he had...The details were still fuzzy for all of them, the demon’s magic still permeating the air and all of them a bit more supernatural than human in that moment. He remembers how they had clung to each other in those moments on the basement floor. Bev’s breath hot on his throat as she had licked and lapped and taken mouthful after mouthful of blood until he was sure he would  _ die _ from it.  _ La petite mort _ , the French expression for the little death, akin to the sensation of an orgasm… That was how he would think of it later, when he had touched the fresh wounds at his neck. He would have gladly died for her then, and it was even worse now that he knew her.

Now that he  _ loved _ her.

She gave a weak noise and pressed against him, her lashes fluttering, and he found his own arms going around her, his fingers sliding through her now short hair. He forgot about the phoenix in that moment, about the other’s watching them. In that moment it was just them and it was beautiful, in some kind of tragic way. “Ben.” He heard her moan softly. 

“I’ve got you, Bev.” His own voice sounds far away and he feels weightless. There’s a cry then and he realizes it’s her, being pulled off and away from him. “Richie, she hasn’t…” He’s saying the words very, very slowly. 

“She’s fine, Ben.  _ Christ _ . Someone staunch his fuckin’ neck before he bleeds out.”

Eddie then by his side, pressing something against his neck. “Leave it to you to have a hankie, Eds.” He mumbles before giving a weak laugh. “God, I don’t feel so hot...” 

“Surprising literally no one, Ben. Take some deep breaths for me.” A small hand on his back then, guiding the motion. “There we go.”

He lifts his tired eyes then to find Beverly curled into Richie’s arms, her own lids fluttering as she breathes deeply. “Is she okay?” He croaks out. “W-we can get her more blood…”

“No. You can’t give anymore and the only other person here who can is Bill, and I’m not playing that game tonight.” Richie’s own fangs show in tha tmoment. “Jesus. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What a mess.”

“B-buh-but we g-guh-got the fee-fe-phoenix.” Bill says. “That h-has to cuh-cuh-count for something, r-right?”

Suddenly his phone goes off, startling all of them except for Bev and Mike, who sleep on. Ben watches as Bill fumbles for it, his eyes going wide when he takes in the number. “M-muh-mom? Wuh-what’re you doing u-up-?”

They can all hear the screaming from here, her voice a tinny wail. “WHERE ARE YOU?! WHERE’S GEORGIE!? BILL, WHERE IS GEORGE!?”

“H-He’s…?”

“GONE, HE’S  _ GONE _ BILL! DON’T TELL ME CALM DOWN ZACH, THAT’S MY  _ BABY _ !”

Gone, Georgie Denbrough was gone?

No, it’s not a question. Not with that look on Bill’s face. It’s undeniable, it’s simply reality.

Gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

“Juh-Juh-JUH…” Bill drops the phone then, a violent shudder jerking through him. It hits the ground with a terrible crack, spider webbing and going black as Bill becomes a god damn broken record before their very eyes.  “JUH-JUH-JUH-!” 

“Bill.” Richie’s letting go of Bev, standing on his own shaking legs, his voice weak with desperation. “Oh God, Bill, don’t-”

“ _ JUH _ .” It comes out so violently that his teeth cut his lip, breaking the skin open. Bev doesn’t stir though, not even when Bill collapses with a terrible scream that echoes out into the night. “ _ JUH-JUH-JUH-GEORGE!!! _ ” 

And that’s what they got, Ben supposes as he falls into his own unconsciousness, for making a deal with the devil.

-

He wakes up in a house that he’s never seen before.

He doesn’t sit up quite yet, instead laying there, tucked in tight under the covers. His body is laid out like a board, hands on his side and face tilted up towards the ceiling. He breathes in, feeling the fire in his chest, the way it grows and then quells in silence.

Alive.

He was alive.

Mike Hanlon forced himself up then, rubbing his hands over his cheeks. It had been days since he had really felt his human body like this and it was strange. He took in the room then, the pale sunlight filtering in through the curtains, the dusty furniture that huddles itself in the left most corner of the room. Whoever his savior was, they hadn’t been expecting him...expecting to house his body within their own home so suddenly. 

He remembers him then, the boy with hair like flame, the way his heart had beat wildly, the way his voice had rang out as he begged him not to run.

“Oh thank Christ.” A voice says at the doorway, grabbing his attention, dragging him back to the present. He looks up to see a young man with wild black hair and a pair of glasses that could double as magnifying glasses in their spare time shoved up his nose. “You’re awake.”

“I’m awake.” Mike confirms it in a soft voice. The boy is pushing those goggle glasses up his nose then, sauntering in with a calculating look in his eyes. “And very, very surprised to be awake as well, Mister-” His Mama’s manners are coming through in that very moment and he can’t help it even after everything.

“Tozier. Richie Tozier, actually. And don’t call me Mister, man. Jesus, we’re the same age almost.” He’s got a wild look about him, set off by the dark circles under his eyes. “And you’re Mike Hanlon.” He adds.

“The one and only.” The only Hanlon left, in fact. The thought is intrusive and awful and he would give anything to never think it again, but that’s his new reality. His family was dead. 

Slain by the demon.

Burned alive.

It should have been impossible. Their nature was fire, after all.  _ Always burning higher _ , his daddy said.  _ Above all the rest.  _ And yet somehow It had  _ tainted _ their fire, had wreathed their home in a hellfire so damning and hot that it had burned the skin from their bones.

Until It found their firehearts and ate them  _ whole _ .

“Where I am?” He finally manages, noticing the way the other stares at him. The dark haired boy sighs then before pulling over one of those dustier chairs, letting himself fall down onto it unceremoniously. 

“Ben Hanscom’s house.” His blank stare must be obvious because Richie’s leaning forward then, brow knitting itself in confusion. “You don’t know Ben?”

“I don’t know much, honestly.” His parent’s had educated him, sure enough, and life on the farm had been hard but rewarding work, but Derry itself and its residences were a complete mystery to him. 

“Well jeeze, man. Ben’s a witch. He’s also out cold from last night. I’ve been up…” He rubs at his eyes then. “...Real long now. Fuck.” 

Mike shoves his feet out from  under the covers before he moves to stand, listening to his body creak and crack awkwardly. “Was Ben the boy from last night?” He feels awful, he really does, but he needs to meet him and thank him and…

And he’s not really sure what comes after that, but something in him says that it’s important. 

“Bill’s…” He’s running a hand down his face and shaking his head. “Bill’s not going to be coming around any time soon. I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry…” He stands. “Come night time, you’re gonna get the deets, I promise. I need you to stay in the house, please? Everyone will be up then…” He’s slumping in the chair, his lashes fluttering.

And falling asleep, sitting straight up, just like that.

Mike clamps his lips shut and carefully sneaks out of the room, trying his best to stay quiet. Out into the hallways and into the house, eyes wide at its sloping ceiling and mismatched wallpaper. The walls themselves are crowded with all sorts of old photos that he swears look  _ back _ at him when he passes. 

And then he comes upon the strangest sight of them all.

A floating blanket, coming right up the stairs, heading straight towards him.

A ghost, what else could it be? He almost yelps the word out but then he remembers that Richie’s asleep and there’s other people in this house too. It pauses the moment it sees him, seeming to turn one way and then the other before facing forward again, almost staring at him.

“Who are you?” He says to it and it simply continues to stand there, almost judgingly. “O-oh you probably can’t talk. Am I in your way?” A nod from the shape and he’s quickly sidestepping, letting the strange being pass by. The only logical progression, Mike thinks then, is to follow it. 

Straight back to the room he just left. 

It shakes itself out before falling over Richie, covering him from  his shoulders all the way down to his still sneakered feet. He think that’s it, that nothing else will come of this strange moment, but then one of the chairs is moving and oh…

Something is writing words in the dust.

_ NICE TO MEET YOU. I’M EDDIE. _

“Hi Eddie.” He says quietly, eyes still saucer wide. Another line is written underneath, just as quickly.

_ I’M A GHOST, BUT  _ _ NOT _ _ A GHOST. _ His earlier assumption is proved right but it’s still odd. He had never met another supernatural before outside of his family and now this one wasn’t playing by the rules that he knew. _ IT’S A LONG STORY. _

“I bet.” He manages. 

_ ANYWAYS, TOZIER HERE HAS BEEN UP FOR ALMOST 48 HOURS NOW. I’M WATCHING THE HOUSE. I’LL BE AROUND. SEE YOU TONIGHT. _ It’s all smoothed away then, leaving only floating dust particles as evidence. 

A ghost, a witch… what other secrets did this house hold within its walls?

He lets his fingers skim the walls as he makes his way down the stairs, noticing how they almost seem to lean into his touch. “What else you got for me?” 

Apparently it was a cat.

His cat.

He sees her at the bottom of the stairs. “Miss Church!”

“Michael!” She cries out and he’s not too sure why she’s got a human’s voice but she’s jumping into his arms, nuzzling close. “Oh Michael, I thought you were gone for!”

“I’m right here.” He hugs her close. “Did the rest of the animals…?”

“Not so lucky…” She licks at his chin with her rough tongue. “But it was quick.”

His grip tightens and he pushes his face against her fur. It’s not matted anymore, and she’s actually purring. “Who’s been spoiling you?” He laughs against her fur. “You were always a fussy thing, but here you are, looking all sorts of pleased with yourself.”

“What can I say? The life of a barn cat isn’t one of luxury, and now I’m sitting in the lap of it!” She hops down from his arms then, winding between his legs. “Did you meet the werewolf boy?”

A werewolf! He glances up at the ceiling, assuming that that’s Richie. “I did. He’s a werewolf?”

“An alpha too.” Her tail flicks and she’s clearly unamused. “We’re days from the full moon as well and I don’t want to be around for that.” 

“So a witch, a ghost, and a werewolf are all in Derry? Anything else I should know about, since you’re so smart?” He crouches down, petting Church under her chin.

“Mmm, a dhampir’s here too? Mixed blood, recently fed as well. Their friend is human, but I haven’t met him yet.” She nudges his hand. “Cheap tactics, Michael.”

“But they still work.” He rubs a velvety ear between his fingers then before he stands. “Can you help me find him?”

“The human?” She gets a sly look upon her feline face. “I do believe that we are to wait, Michael.”

He had spent his entire life tucked away safe and sound in his home and look at what it had gotten him. He hadn’t been able to fight back, all he could do is accept it and run away until someone had saved him.

Something had to change.

“You’ve always been a troublemaker, Church.” He notes with a smile of his own and she’s jumping onto the bannister, tail swaying back and forth. “Wanna help me?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Pets?” He attempts and she bats her paw at him, clearly unimpressed. “What do you want?”

“I haven’t decided yet…”

“Then how am I supposed to give you anything, cat!?” She shushes him and he quickly covers his mouth, looking around before leaning in. “Don’t be a total cat about this, Church.” He narrows his eyes some.

“A promise.” She licks her muzzle then. “One promise to me, Michael.”

“Call me Mike and we have a deal.”

How bad could one promise be anyways?

-

“So tell us again, William, why you were at the Ironworks?”

He’s never heard of this. Of policemen coming to someone’s house for questioning, but then again he had heard someone mention in passing that he’s in shock, that he needed to be treated delicately.

He twists his hands in his lap, back and forth and back and forth, the action aided by the sweat collecting in his palms. “I-I-I…”

“Use your words, kid. Jesus.” Men he doesn’t know, faces he can’t even focus on. Smudged and white and soon to be forgotten. 

“He has a speech impediment, give him a moment.”

“Is that the PC term?” A rough laugh. His hands twist again, joints aching as he pushes his hands further and further apart each time. “C’mon, the sooner we get through this, the sooner we can start looking for your kid brother.”

Doesn’t work that way. This has to be the demon. Maybe it’s a dream. Was any of this real? He thinks back to last night, to the fire and to the Bev’s fangs and the way the demon had rushed at him. He had used magic, he had done that.

His palm aches, a reminder that yes, it was real. Very very real.

He looks up at them then. They’re in his house, they’re going to play by his rules.

“R-ruh-running. I w-wuh-went out for a r-run…” He leans forward then, staring them both in the eye. “B-Been h-having trouble s-sluh-sleeping since the f-f-fire.” They stare back, not buying it. One of them writes something down. He twists his hands again, seeing how their gazes fall to his shaking digits. His thumb presses into the cut on his hand and suddenly he calms.

You spoke to the moon and she granted you a gift.

You held living flame in your hands.

You made a deal with the devil and came out alive.

All in one night.

You can do this, Bill.

“I-I w-want to find my b-bruh-brother.” He exhales sharply through his nose, feeling the way his shoulders shake. Georgie was missing and all they were doing was sitting around, letting time slip past them. “A-a-and I d-don’t want t-tuh-to answer a-an-anymore questions without a-a-a lawyer.” At the very least his God damn parents. “G-Got it?”

One of them rolls his eyes and his partner shrugs. “You got your rights kid.” 

Damn right. 

They’re standing and it’s strange how his parents show up at that very moment, right on cue. Once again he can’t help but think of the demon… but they had made a deal. He couldn’t touch anyone for the next week.

His father is speaking in a low voice to the officers and his mother is pulling him into her arms, small noises issuing from the back of her throat. He keeps his eyes on the officers, not once looking away. 

“F-fuh-find him.” He says in a low voice, appalling both his parents given how they cry out his name. “FIND MY BROTHER.”

They leave and it’s just the Denbrough family minus one. Minus the one that counts, anyways. “What did you tell them?” His father is squeezing his shoulder to the point of pain but he pins him with the same stare he had given the two men earlier. “God damn it Bill, you’re twenty one years old, don’t start pulling the pissed off teenager act!”

He knocks the other’s hand off and his mother is giving another cry. It’s more of a helpless moan at this point, her chest heaving and her eyes wet and red. Making your own mother cry, Bill. He can’t bring himself to care because they’re just standing around while George is missing and he can’t sit around anymore. He just can’t!

“F-fuh-fuck this.” He seethes. “I-I’m g-guh-going out.”

“Where?! Where the hell do you think you’re going Bill!?”

“TO FIND GEORGE.” He screams because it’s all he can do. Zach Denbrough’s reaction is immediate. He jerks and stares at his son like he’s seeing who he really is in that moment. He almost smiles in that moment, manic and untamed, but he bites it back and takes a few more steps back towards the front door.

“Bill you can’t!”

“I-I-I can.” His hand is on the doorknob and he’s twisting it savagely. “A-and I  _ am _ .”

He’s still in last night’s clothes as he rushes out into the bright daytime light. He’s not even wearing shoes but he doesn’t care. He’s flying over the dewed grass and down the street, away from his mother’s desperate screams.

He needs to get to Ben Hanscom’s house.

He needs answers.

He isn’t expecting to literally crash into them literal minutes later.

He’s rounding the corner, his vision tunneled, when it happens. His body slams into someone else’s and they’re both sprawling to the ground. He’s already pushing up, already forming an apology when he sees who it is. 

“M-Muh- _ Mike _ .” The other’s name falls out of him.

Mike Hanlon stares back at him with wide eyes, rubbing the back of his head absently. “Wh-what are y-yuh-you doing out here?!” He’s grabbing the other’s wrist then, looking around wildly. They can’t afford for Mike to be seen out here like this. 

“Looking for you!” The other says, sounding mystified.

“M-me!?” 

“Yes human boy. You’re quite special.” A female voice says and he’s going to get whiplash at this point given how fast he cranks his neck in it’s direction.

“...I’m s-suh-sorry…” He closes his eyes and opens them once more. “I-Is th-the cat t-tuh-talking?”

“Surprised me too, man.”

“Juh-Juh- _ Jesus _ .” He drags the other up, looking up and down the street once more before pulling Mike along. “Y-you t-tuh-too.” He looks down at the unamused cat.

“Me?” The cat tilts her head. “You don’t command me, boy.”

“Church.” Mike says warningly and she actually has the nerve to sigh before she’s trotting along.

“You still owe me, Michael.”

“Mike.” The boy groans as they jog down the street. “I told you to call me Mike, Church.”

“Y-You’re making d-duh-deals with a cat and I-I’m making t-them with a duh-duh-demon.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “W-we’re kuh-quite the puh-pair, Mike.”

“You did what?!” Mike digs his heels into the road and that’s when Bill remembers that he’s not wearing shoes still. The concrete is hot under his feet and he’s pretty sure there’s a small cut on his left heel, but that doesn’t matter one bit to him. 

“W-When I found y-you… I t-tuh-told It that I c-cuh-could find you first, and I duh-did. S-S-So I told him to fuck off f-for a w-w-week.” He feels a grim smile come to his face, spreading to the point of aching. “S-Son of a b-bi-bitch is g-gunna be real m-muh-mad when I-It comes back.”

“Jesus Mary’n’Joseph. You’re insane.” Mike sounds absolutely fascinated and Bill can’t help it. His smile becomes more genuine then, more real. 

“J-Juh-Just a lil.”

The cat’s at the front door, watching them with slitted orange eyes. “K-Kay, uh…” He tries for the doorknob and it holds. “D-Did you luh-lock it?”

“No sir. Lemme try.” He moves his hand and watches as the same thing happens to Mike. “Well shit. Okay... I think we’re locked out…”

“No, you fools!” Church yowls at them. “You have to ask!”

“W-we’re not v-vuh-vampires though.” That’s how that worked, right? Vampires need permission. Did Bev need permission to cross over thresholds? What about garlic and silver and crosses? What was fact and what was fiction? 

What was real anymore?

“Please, for the love of God, listen to me. Ask.”

“Uh… h-hi house? This is Mike Hanlon, and uh… I don’t… I don’t know your name.”

“It’s B-Bill. Bill D-Denbrough.” God, he even stutters his own name. His cheeks flush with shame but Mike doesn’t seem to notice, or he just doesn’t care. 

“Bill Denbrough, and we’d uh… like to come inside. Please?”

Nothing happens at first. They glance down at Church who simply sits there, staring forward. “Maybe we should kno-”

The door swings open.

“M-Muh-Magic…” He breathes as he steps into the house. Despite how ramshackle the outside looks, it’s cozy on the inside. A hodge podge home that borders on hoarder, but is somehow made more personal and quaint by it. 

“There’s a ghost in this house, you know.” Mike whispers, glancing around surreptitiously.

“Oh, y-you mean Eddie…”

“How’d you know!?”

“I-I just f-fuh-found out last n-night. We’re i-in the same buh-buh-boat.” 

Mike Hanlon’s passing a hand over the crown of his head, fingers passing over his short hair. He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans and Bill can’t really believe that this same boy was a phoenix. A God damn firebird of legend and myth. That same boy had been almost nothing, a handful of smoldering ashes in his hands, and now he was this. Lithe and handsome, glowing from the inside out almost.

“Why were you running before?” Church, Bill notices, is nowhere to be found. It’s just the two of them in the foyer. “You were like a bat out of hell, man.”

“M-My brother… h-he went m-muh…” He swallow around the lump in his throat. “Miss...Miss...Missing.” It finally pops out of his mouth and he goes hot and cold at the admission. “I nuh...n-need to fuh-fuh-find him.”

“...If you could find me, I think you can find your brother, Bill Denbrough. Speaking of-” Mike takes a step forward, his lips parting.

A creak from above interrupts them and they’re both looking up.

“...Well, isn’t this interesting.” A voice muses.

Beverly Marsh stares back.

-

 

She had woken up feeling sated and the guilt was immediate.

She knew this feeling. This feeling of fullness, of someone else’s blood running through her veins. Bev touched her lips first, then parted them, fingers slipping against her fangs.

_ “I’ve got you Bev.” _

Her skin flushes and something heated zips through her, down her spine and pooling in her lower stomach. Ben. He had done that, had offered himself to her with such… such eagerness, such trust.

She turns over in the bed, grabbing a pillow to hug against her frame. It was all coming back to her now. The pulse that had run through her throat and into her teeth, an ache that tightened and tightened until her body had felt as though it would implode on itself. Something had come before that, but those thoughts evaded her, slunk away into the darkness of her brain and faded into nothing. 

She remembers how he held her though.

Bev squeezes the pillow a bit tighter and hides her face against it. It had only happened one other time and she hadn’t known him. He had been a body to take from, and now he was…

What was Ben Hanscom to her?

When she sits up, she’s surprised by the fact that her head feels so light. Her hair! She still hadn’t seen it and while it was just hair, Bev couldn’t help but worry that it looked terrible. There’s a low groaning noise to the left her and she turns to see the house shifting, a door there when one hadn’t been before. “Oh you beautiful house, you.” She leaps up from the bed and races over, throwing the door open to a full bathroom.

To a mirror which shows her and her alone.

A Beverly Marsh with ash on her face, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks and freckles, with infinitely less hair than she had yesterday. She takes a cautious step forward, fingers reaching out to touch the mirror, to touch that wary Beverly that stares back at her.

“Hey there girl.” She laughs softly then, withdrawing her fingers. “Lookin’ pretty good.” Despite all the circumstances, despite having almost been burned alive and having walked straight into what very well could have been hell she was here.

She was alive.

She spies the scissors then and raises them to the lopsided locks and burnt ends, trimming the last of them away, until it’s curling around her ears with a life of its own. God, when was the last time her hair had been this short? A tear leaks out of the corner of her eye as she cards her fingers through it, disbelief and wonder and a strange sense of lightness… of release.

Of freedom.

A laugh bubbles out of her and Bev quickly moves to cover her mouth, more tears spilling over, but it’s good. A good cry, one that’s been a long time coming. Look at you, Beverly Marsh! Young and beautiful and  _ strong _ . 

Her fingers graze over the door frame as she leaves the bathroom, whispering her thanks to the house. She doesn’t look back as the house rearranges itself once again, instead going over to the closet, knowing very well she’d find something waiting inside for her.

She hadn’t been expecting one of her own creations to be hanging inside.

“House…” Bev closes the door and waits before reopening it, finding even more of her clothes waiting inside. “My problem is not the selection and you know it, come on now!” She tries to force the door closed but the house pushes back, keeping it wide open. “God damn it…”

The clothes billow out towards her playfully and she has to bite back a groan. “Fine, I’m doing it!” The hangers all shift aside, leaving a single dress in the middle. “Oh no, not that one. C’mon house!”

The hanger jitters at her, causing the fabric to dance about. It’s distracting her, she realizes too late, when she looks up to see nothing left. “You’re a little shit, you know that.” She rips the hanger down, huffing some. The house creaks back, closet doors waving before they close themselves up.

The dress itself was something she had made when the weather had finally started to warm up. She had scoured Derry and Bangor’s flea markets and thrift stores until she had found them. The wedding dresses that made up this singular dress. It was lace and froth and layers of white and pearl and cream. She was slipping off yesterday’s clothes, staring at it from the corner of her eye like it was some kind of sleeping beast. Only in her undergarments then, the key to her home in the other world resting upon her sternum, she faces it once more.

Nearly twenty different dresses had gone into this, she remembers as she touches some of the fake pearls that dot one of the straps. Richie had seen almost all of her creations except for this one. This one had been her secret, her private pride and joy. 

And now she was wearing it.

She doesn’t even bother to look, instead just smoothing her hands down the front before she’s stepping out of the room, glancing back and forth down the hallway before finally closing the door behind her and that’s when she hears the voices. 

It’s Bill and some other boy, a boy she’s never seen before. It only takes moments for her to recognize who he is, what he is.

The phoenix.

“Well isn’t this interesting.” She leans against the railing, brow raised some. Bill turns his face up to her and he’s smiling for a moment before he seems to almost correct himself, turning his expression blank.

Interesting indeed.

“Hi there.” The phoenix is still staring at her, a pleasant smile on his face. Glowing brown skin and warm near bronze eyes that she can see from here. “Are you the dhampir Church spoke about earlier?”

“Is that her name?” The cat is nowhere to be found, not too surprising given their earlier interactions. “She’s a piece of work. And yes, that’s me.” She hops up onto the railing, sliding down its length with a practiced ease. “Name’s Beverly Marsh, call me Bev, and you must be-”

“Mike Hanlon.” His hand is smooth and warm when it closes around hers. “Mike’ll do.”

“I see you’ve meet Bill.”

“Met!? He saved my life.”

What the hell happened last night?

She looks over to ask when she sees the look upon his face. He looks haunted. There’s dark shadows under his eyes and he has this absent look upon his face, like he’s a million miles away from them. “Bill.” She touches his hand then and he’s coming to, like someone surfacing from a deep dive.

“H-H-Hey Bev.” He says quietly, a wavering smile coming to his face. 

The demon was gone for a week, she remembered that much. Bill’s deal was that if they found the phoenix that It would leave them alone. So if Mike was standing here, what had happened to cause such grief to stand out on Bill Denbrough’s face?

“Richie’s asleep.” Mike says, breaking the moment between them. “Eddie said he’s watching the house.”

“Goodness, you met just about everyone, didn’t you?” She shifts some, fingers smoothing down the front of her dress again. “D-Did Eddie say anything about Ben?”

“He did not.” 

Bill’s watching her and she’s starting to hate that the house forced her into this stupid get up. He must have seen her last night, seen how she  _ attacked _ Ben. Oh God. “I-I’m gonna… gonna go check up on him.” Great, now she’s got her own stutter. Bill’s looking away and Mike’s nodding and it takes all her willpower to not race up the stairs, away from these boys and towards the one that really matters.

Towards Ben.

The house doesn’t even need to bring the door to her, but it does unlock it under her hands. It had been protecting him, keeping him safe. The blinds are drawn, casting the room into a heavy darkness, but all around them there’s little tinkering toys, half made projects and models. “Ben.” She speaks into the dark, but he doesn’t stir.

She can hear his heart beat though. Steady and strong. She steps further into the room, her footsteps careful and quiet upon the wooden floors. Twice he had done this now. Twice he had given herself to her, and twice she had taken.

He looks so peaceful…

His lashes are fine against his cheek bones and he’s got a smile playing on the corners of his lips. Sweet dreams, nothing less for Ben Hanscom. She pushes the hair back from his face then, fingers carding through the soft locks, before they’re skipping down the side of his face to rest over the still fresh wounds on his throat. She had done that. Had punctured the skin and slipped in, easy as any needle.

Her fangs ache in her mouth.

She leans into him then, mouth parting, a soft sigh escaping her. 

Only she doesn’t press her teeth to his throat.

She presses her lips to his.

The room’s flooded in a soft light then as the curtains flap up around them but she doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

Until Ben Hanscom’s opening his eyes.

“Bev?”

-

They’re both seated at the kitchen table now and Bill’s back to pressing his fingers into his cut until he’s grimacing from it, knowing full well that Mike watches every time his expression twists up, every time he hisses from it.

“So what in the hell happened?”

Mike’s voice is cool, which comes as a surprise. Bill blinks up at him then and shifts his red hair away from his forehead and blows out a soft breath.

“L-l-luh-let’s start w-with what y-yuh-you remem-mem-ember.” He counters and the phoenix thankfully nods in agreement at that despite his obvious avoidance, despite his ugly stutter.

“There was the fire, of course.” His words go tight and quiet and Bill doesn’t push there. They can approach that later when they’re all a group, when everyone’s finally had a chance to rest up and settle down. “They told me to run, and I did, and I found that place where you then found me. I didn’t… didn’t wanna live on without them, so I was fading away when you found me. All of that was in bits and pieces.”

“T-that’s p-puh-probably why It wuh-wasn’t able to f-fuh-find y-you.” Bill supplies. It’s the only logical thing at this point. Mike had been dying, simply fading away on the wind until there was nothing left. 

“But you did.” Mike said in a soft voice. “And you saved me.”

The conversation turns. It’s not like a turn of a valve or a knob either. It’s the kind that’s a sleight of hand, something that goes unnoticed and yet it  _ happens _ , whether you know it or not. Mike leans across the table then and takes Bill’s scarred hand into his, his fingers soft on the wound. “I’m in your debt, Bill Denbrough.” He doesn’t look up, not even then, his brown eyes steady on the wound.

There’s something in that moment and Bill’s not entirely sure what it is. He hadn’t ever held hands with someone before. Girls in Derry had taken one look at him and his fumbling lips and had turned tail. College he had put his nose to the books and kept to himself. “N-no calluses.” It pops out of him before he can stop himself and God, could he be more stupid? “C-Cos you wu-wuh-worked on a f-farm!” He adds when Mike’s brow creases in confusion.

“Aw, hell! They all burned away.” Mike’s hands remain in his as he begins to laugh. “Fresh start, I suppose.” Something in his voice sobers at that and suddenly he’s not smiling anymore, the light in his eyes dying along with it. “...I don’t got nothing of theirs, Bill. Not a single damn thing.”

“...M-memories…” Bill says back in a soft voice. “A-And love…” Always love, always no matter what you had the love you shared with others. Mike’s hand warms in his and Bill can suddenly remember what it was like to hold the other inside that smoke stack. Nearly nothing and yet everything to him in that moment. 

“And when that fades?” Mike whispers. “When there really is nothing left?”

“T-then maybe it’s t-tuh-time to let g-go.” It’s not unkind words. It’s a realist’s way of looking at things, of simply stating the facts. His father would be proud of him, Bill supposes.

“Bullshit.” Mike says and that earlier smile is filling his face, bright as sunshine, full of light. “If you really think that way, then why did you do what you did, Bill Denbrough?” Him, oh he means him! Bill flushes as bright as his hair before he’s ducking his face against his chest. 

Because it was the right thing to do? Bill supposes it’s that, but it’s more than that. “B-Because- Be-kuh-kuh-cause…”  The smell of smoke on the air, a streak of fire across the sky… “Because you deserve to live, Mike Hanlon.” He says on a breath.

“Ahem.” A small voice calls out and they both break eye contact finally to look at Church, her golden eyes peering up at them from the floor. “Michael, you seemed to have forgotten that I am here.”

“How could I forget you?” Mike withdraws his hand finally to gather the barn cat up into his arms, a deep chuckle leaving him as she brushes her tail purposely into his face. “Miss Church, c’mon now.”

“B-Bad cat.” Bill chuckles and she hisses in return, hair raising slightly. “C-Case and puh-point.”

“Humans.” She gives a cat like roll of her eyes, something that should be impossible and yet she manages to do such in an impressive manner. “Acting like you’re so much better. Well human, how do you like all of this?” A phoenix, she must mean, and a ghost and a witch and a werewolf and a vampire and a werewolf and a demon too. 

“I-It’s puh-pretty n-nuh-neat, honestly.” Bill admits and that was so not the answer that Church wanted to hear. She grumbles and growls and finally hops out of Mike’s arms, casting an angry look over her shoulder before she’s gone again. “G-Grumpy cat…” 

“Bev’s right, she’s God awful, but the trick is to give her warm salmon. She loves it.”

“I HEARD YOU MICHAEL.” Church yowls. “DO NOT GIVE MY WEAKNESS AWAY, BOY!”

“Sorry Church. Anyways, hot salmon. Do that and she’s yours.”

He’s laughing despite knowing he shouldn’t. George is still missing and he’s not doing anything about it. What is there to do until everyone is up and ready though? “S-Should we c-chu-check on B-Bev?” 

“She said she was checking on Ben? Maybe we should find Eddie?” They’re both stumped as they stare at each other from across the table. “Why do I feel like we’re the odd ones out in this group, Bill?”

“Cos w-wuh-we’re new is a-all. Guh-give it a w-wuh-week and we’ll b-be p-puh-pruh… pros.” 

Mike smiles at him and he smiles back and it for a moment he forgets the circumstances of their meeting, about everything that brought them here. They’re just two young men, getting to know one another in a mad, mad world.

And then there’s a knife comes down between them and they both begin to scream as it begins to drag itself down the length of the table. “D-D-DUH-DUH-D-DEE-!” Bill begins to shriek only to replaced by actual screaming as he watches Mike go up in complete flames. “HUH-H-HOLY F-FUH-FUCK!!!”

The knife comes up against but it’s wavering now before it’s being thrown to the floor. Mike’s still pulling a God damn Human Torch act but he isn’t moving, instead cocking his head at the space where the knife had been floating moments before. “Eddie?” His voice calls from the mass of fire.

“EDDIE!?” Bill screams once more. “B-BUH-BUT HE’S… HE…” Sure he was a ghost but he had seen him last night, touched him last night! “GUH.” That’s all he can manage at that point. A sound of confusion and frustration all bundled up into one. 

“What in the hell is going on?” They both turn then to see Ben at the doorway, his hair mussed, his eyes wide, and most importantly…

“I-Is that a h-h-hickie?” Bill manages hoarsely. He can’t help it. It’s the only normal thing that he can find in the mess that is this very moment. Ben goes very still in response, his lips parting just so before they close once more.

“That’s...a  vampire bite, Bill.” Ben says matter of factly after a full thirty second pass, eyes going narrow and shrewd.

“N-nu-nuh-not on the r-ruh-right side of your n-neck, it’s n-not.” He states and Ben Hanscom goes a blotchy red and the house seems very, very small around them at his words. 

Magic house, indeed...

“That’s not the point! The point is: one, why are you screaming? Two, why are you on fire? And three!” Ben’s finger, held aloft and with great purpose, suddenly wavers. “W-what was point number three…”

“Beats me.” Mike’s fire is finally dying and there’s not a scorch mark or a burn to be found on him once he returns to normal. “We were screaming because Eddie went and scared the shit out of us!”

“Eddie! A knife!” Ben’s finally getting a sense for what had happened, it appears. He walks between them and grabs it off the floor before he’s looking at the table. “...Let me guess, you were going to write a message on the table.” A pause before Ben sighs helplessly. “This was Gran’s table, Eddie, and you  _ stabbed _ it.” 

“Mu-Multiple times…” Bill adds in a small voice. 

“Hence the screaming! And the fire! It’s… a natural defense mechanism...” Now Mike’s managing a blush across his darker features as he explains himself. “As you can see, it didn’t do any kind of damage. Your house is totally fine!”

“I’m well aware…” Ben starts but then he goes very quiet and very still.

Because Beverly Marsh has entered the room.

And she’s sporting a hickie of her own, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I've been busy but I haven't forgotten this lil piece of work, how could I ever?
> 
> Things are gettin crazy -Dante Sparda voice- LET'S ROCK.

 

Waking up to screaming would not be on the list of things that Richie Tozier highly recommended. He startles awake at the first shriek, only to give his own agonized noise as his spine realigns itself violently within his own skin. “Mother fucker.” He hisses as he slumps back into the chair, pointed canines sinking into his lower lip.

Add ‘falling asleep sitting up’ to that list too.

He cocks his head, listening past the ringing in his ears, tuning in to the rapid fire discussion below. Bill’s voice coming out in a mumbled rush as he asks about… Oh God. A hickie?

He _has_ to see this.

Something turns the corner just as he opens the door to the room and he’s giving a devious of giggle of sorts because that’s Bev, looking prettier than a bride on her wedding day, nearly flying down the stairs in an eager rush. Oh boy, too bad Other Worlder’s didn’t get along with technology because there’s _nothing_ more Richie wants than to record these next few minutes, to have them forever, to show them at the inevitable wedding of Beverly Ann Hanscom (nee Marsh) and her beloved Big Ben.

He tiptoes after her and the house is more than eager to aid his process, smoothing away every known creak and groan of the ancient staircase. The conversation is much more clear now, he notices, filtering through the halls and into his lupine ears. Talk of fire and knives and all those dangerous things that were commonplace in their lives now. And then dead silence, punctuated only by a soft gasp.

Beverly Marsh has entered the room.

His lips pull violently into a manic grin. Oh what a scene it must be, three boys facing the force of nature that was Bev. Richie can’t decide whether or not Ben is a poor bastard or a lucky one. He takes another step only to feel something cool grace his forearm, causing him to give pause.

“Eddie.” The cold becomes that much  more apparent and he’s taking a full stop at the second to last stair before the landing, a shiver jolting through him despite how warm his blood runs through his veins ( _running, running, running_ …) “How’ve the last…” He studies his wrist, pretending to make sense of a watch that isn’t there. “Forty five minutes been since I crashed?”

Silence follows. It’s still early on in the day and Eddie’s nowhere near being able to exist at this point. “Awful, I’m sure.” Richie is more than happy to fill it, fingers gracing the space where the ghost ought to be. They smart at the frigid cold, at the lack of being in the space where the railing curves artfully and descends dramatically to the floor. For a moment it’s just them, a wolf in boy’s skin and another without any at all.

He had felt that skin though, as real as anything in front of the Ironworks before the dawn had broke, just like how he had felt it in the fountain too. Eddie had been feather light in his arms and without even thinking in the heat of the moment of being alive and winning he had pressed his lips to the other’s cheek and he had kissed him.

It really hadn’t been a kiss. Just a simple brushing of his lips across the soft swell of Eddie’s high cheekbone, not even that if he’s being honest with himself . Still, they had both felt it. Eddie had gone rigid and all he could do in that moment is tip his head back and laugh like the wild thing he was. Don’t scare him off, don’t hurt him, don’t be an idiot Tozier…

_Don’t._

The cold draws away and he’s left standing there without purpose or reason. He can feel the other’s name on his lips but he swallows them back up until there’s nothing but a shadow of a smile on his face. “We probably missed all the good parts.” He jokes and he hates how easily it comes to him. He shouldn’t be able to crack a joke just like that in this moment, shouldn’t be able to shrug it all of just like that, but it’s so damn natural- like a switch. Alpha Richie, jokester Richie, quiet and serious Richie. Never once overlapping one another, always running parallel from one another.

He forces himself to move, not wanting to think on things like that anymore. He hates those moments, those too thoughtful moments when he realized just what exactly was wrong with him. The cold returns to his side and it eases the growing anxiety. “Hey guys!” He calls around the corner, throwing his arms out wide. “Didja miss me!?”

It’s like when a live show cuts in from commercial when he enters. Everyone is angled towards one another, held extremely still, and suddenly they’re released by the sound of his voice, like some kind of “action!” call. Bill’s shoulders roll back, the Phoenix’s eyes drift towards the red headed male and then to him, and then there’s the fact of Ben and Bev.

Their hands are this close to touching, the tips of them brushing up against one another. It was a given, an expectation- something that was meant to happen after all this time. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Bev says, concern belied by the slant of her brows over her green-blue eyes.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He counters and slides up to the kitchen table, fingering (haha Richie, good one!) the gouge in it before looking up. “Also impossible given the screaming, but you know, you do you.”

There’s still an air of awkwardness and he’s eager to do away with it. “So, Bill. What’s the plan?”

“P-Puh-plan?” He echoes back in a hollow voice. They all turn to the human. A strange human, one who had wielded magic like he had been born to it. How strange it had been that they met, that he had dragged that boy to the Hanlon Farm without a second thought.

“Your brother.” He replies in a low voice, feeling how big his teeth are in his mouth, how his claws threaten to burst through his skin. It had happened last night, before that strange darkness had swallowed him whole when Bill had taken on the deal. The wolf. Ready to hunt, to destroy the demon. He had lost himself though in, and for whatever reason his memories were blank. That was probably for the best, he can’t help but think, especially if it had spurred on Bev’s bloodlust in her own strange void.

He hears Bill swallow, impossibly loud in the silent room. “T-t-the p-puh-puh…” It’s taking everything in him to respond. “The _police_ …” He gives a strangled noise, covers his face and the agony that becomes all too apparent on it.

“Fuck the police.” Bev says suddenly. “They’re not going to do jack shit, especially if they’ve been spelled. Too much has been going on in this town and we’ve let it happen.” She moves from Ben to the head of the table. “It’s time we finish what we started.” She lays her hand down upon the wood and he can sense the power coming off of her, fueled by a desperate need they all knew.

“What _I_ started.” Ben approaches with much less confidence. His face is turned down to the floor, a ruddy color splashing it’s way across his cheeks.

Bev turns to him with a fire in her eyes. “Ben!” Her sudden sternness causes the witch to stiffen in surprise. “No more of that. We’re done playing the blame game. We’ve all done something we shouldn’t have, made mistakes and you’re no different Ben Hanscom.” She had magic inside of her now too, Ben’s blood, and Richie could feel the press of it against him with every word she uttered. He clears his throat, drawing her attention just so before giving her a pointed look. “So stop... “ She’s flushing violently now as well, aware of how everyone’s watching her. “Stop… stop being a little _bitch!_ ”

Mike’s the first to react. A wild whoop of a laugh leaves him, all sorts of surprised at Bev’s words. Bill follows with a half chuckle of his own, smothering it quickly as he presses his lips together. But it’s Ben’s reaction he’s waiting for. The witch is staring at her, mouth agape and eyes wide, like he can’t believe what he’s just heard.

“Well shit, Marsh!” Richie leans forward. “Fellas, I think we know who wears the pants in the relationship, am I right?” He cups his hand to his mouth in a stage whisper before waggling his dark brows obscenely.

“RICHARD.” Beverly shrills moments before she brings the palm of her hand up against the back of his head violently. He doesn’t even care, grinning the entire time through the pain of it. “SHUT UP.”

“Young love in the 21st century, what a time to be alive.” He clutches his hands to his heart, sighing with purpose. “But we’re getting off topic here! Billiam!” He whips his finger dramatically, leveling the human with it.

“B-B-Billiam!” Bill shouts, but he’s speaking over the other, uncaring of the giggles the nickname creates in its wake.

“You helped us find our phoenix, and now we’re gonna help you find your brother.” It was only fair, right? It’s what they owed to him after everything he had done for them and what he had lost in the process. He looks back and sees the assurance in Bev’s eyes, the way that Ben nods in response. “You’re gonna help too, right?” He addresses Mike and the other boy gives a tight nod.

“I told Bill I’m in his debt.” Bill goes red at that and begins to wave him off but now Mike’s following suit, continuing to speak over the other. “This is the least I can do. Family… family’s important.”

They go quiet as the melancholy takes hold. Bev couldn’t stand her family, he knew that much. Ben had long distance conversations to tide him over, but he hadn’t seen his mother now for years, her fear of his grandmother’s spirit still resting within the house causing her to stay far, far away. Eddie’s mother was an awful, terrible thing that he was happy that he never had to see again, but sometimes you could see the past come to life in his eyes, a desperation for when things had been better, when love had been love and not twisted up and ruined between them.

His thoughts turn to his own parents. God, he missed them. They were good and loving and while they had struggled with him, they had never let that jade their view of him. His baby sister too. She had been just a pup when he had been ripped away from her on that cold Solstice night.

“We have a week.” Bev says. “A week without It breathing down our necks.”

“Two weeks after that until the Solstice.” Ben adds.

And three days, he thinks to himself in a quiet, anxious way, until the full moon.

“Then what’re we waiting for?” Mike claps a hand down on Bill’s shoulder and draws him in close, his smile blinding. “Let’s get to business.”

-

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

They’re sitting across from one another, their legs criss-crossed in the small space in the bay window. Ben’s got his book propped up on his knees with his face ducked into it, looking up now only due to the sound of Bev’s voice.

She’s still wearing that fine dress, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth changing out of. It’ inched up on her creamy white thighs and he has to do everything in his power not to stare, instead forcing his face up to hers.

“I deserved it.” He says easily.

“Ben.” Her voice isn’t as easy. It goes sharp, aided by the slant of her brows and the way she reaches out to punch his kneecap. “Do not start.”

It had been the kick in the ass he needed though. He had been bad about these things, hesitant. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone else, Bev.” The words slide out of him in a low tone, barely audible. “I’m scared.”

She crowds into his space, lit by the sun that slants through the shades. Past his knees and into his personal space. Ben gulps and just like that her eyes slide down the column of his throat, lighting upon the bite first and then the hickie on the other side. “...Bev…”

Her lips touch his so softly, so carefully. Her fingers cradle his jaw and he feels every fear leave him. It’s just as good as the first time if not better, just over an hour to draw a line of distinction between the two…

 

_“Bev?”_

_It had to be a dream. He didn’t dream much. Reality and the universe held too much for him to make fantastical notions of, but he had dreams from time to time. Beverly Marsh often starred in them in a variety of ways. Sometimes they were two humans living that nuclear family dream, sometimes she was painted slick red and on top of him, a wild thing of beauty and desperation, sometimes she was in his arms, dying._

_He didn’t like those last ones one bit._

_She hovered above him with wide eyes, lips parted like blooming rose petals. He had felt those lips upon his, felt their faint brushing upon his own._

_“Ben.” His name left her on a god forsaken gasp. She drew back quickly, only to be halted by his hand on her wrist. Her eyes flicked down, there was a pause. “Ben.” She repeated, much more reverently now, almost like a prayer._

_“Beverly Marsh.” It felt good to say her full name and she shuddered with it. He ought to say more than just that, make some kind of beautiful proclamation of sorts, but it was all too easy to just pull her back into his bed to kiss her again and again and again…_

_He could feel his magic thrumming inside of her, skimming along her veins near the skin, reaching out to him. He slipped his fingers through her hair, a soft sigh leaving him as he did. The bed creaked, the house was quiet, Beverly moaned and it was pure music to his ears._

_Her mouth on the other side of his neck came as a surprise. For a moment he panicked, but then she looked up at him and there was only Bev in her eyes. “You got scared.” The corners of her lips lifted just so. “I could feel it.” She touches his pulse, still avoiding the injured part of his neck. “Is this…” Something shutters in her eyes as she hesitates._

_“It’s perfect, it’s just- I think I’m dreaming still.” He laughed awkwardly, a kind of HA! that filled the space of the room with it’s too-loudness. “Am I?” He touched her hair then, the rosy swell of her cheek, her lips, her throat..._

_He leaned in, pressing his own lips and teeth and tongue to her pulse, listening to how she drew in a wrecked breath at the sensation. “Ben.” She made his name sound like a song, especially when she threw her head back and moaned it like that._

_It’s all too easy to put his mark upon her._

_And she’s more than happy to return the favor moments later._

 

_-_

 

It doesn’t escalate like that now. It stays tender. She draws back and touches the crown of his head with a comforting noise. “We’re all scared.” A nervous laugh escapes her and she has to swallow thickly before continuing. “But we can do this, together, especially now with the phoenix.”

He should say it now while he still has the guts. “What happens when It goes back, Bev?” The second part of his question goes unspoken. What happens to you? To everyone else? His earlier fear of being left all alone and forgotten is still all too apparent, even with Bill’s introduction to the group.

“Things get better, I hope.” Better in the sense of the world righting itself once more. That the Universe rid itself of the wrinkles It had caused and mend each and every tear. That things go back to how they ought to be- this world separate from the Other.

Are you going back? Are you coming back? Could you? The house groans with his unspoken anxieties. “Witchling.” A voice calls from the door, drawing his attention suddenly. “You’re scaring off my friends.”

They both turn to see Church at the doorway. She’s right, he hadn’t seen any of The Cats for a while now. “I hear them at night, sometimes.” Her tail twitches. “Perhaps they know of where George Denbrough has gone.” She turns coy, brings a paw up to her little curled mouth.

“Do you ever just want to help someone without getting something in return?” Bev snipes at the cat and Church simply flicks her tail back and forth in response.

“You gifted me with a voice, I now use it to my advantage.” She jumps up between them, a sigh much too large for her slim feline body leaving her as she settles between them. “You aren’t required to agree, of course. Continue on with your research.”

They look at each other over Church’s form and sigh in unison. He brings his hand down upon her back, stroking the fur there. “...This is also acceptable.” She notes grudgingly, causing them both to laugh.

And for a moment it’s just them and the cat in the golden light, the terror of this world and the Other almost (blessedly) distant.

 

-

“So _this_ is Derry.” Mike says in an awed voice.

Bill lets out a spluttering laugh next to his side. It’s himself, Richie, and the human all out and about in the midday sun. It felt like a blessing upon his skin, a warm welcome back to the world of the living. “D-D-Derry’s not n-nuh-nothin’ to get ech-s-suh-sited about, Mike.”

“Hey now, don’t rain on his parade.” Richie too has dark circles under his eyes like Bill, but he’s staving off his sleep with the energy drink in his dominant hand. “It’s got character.”

“Kuh-Kuh-Character…” Bill says under his breath before he’s squinting up at the sky. “Put t-t-that on a puh-post card.”

“The Town of Derry, it’s got character.” Richie loops his free arm around the other boy. “Okay fellas. What’re we thinking?” They hadn’t really come up with a plan when they had left the house, had simply just left with the intent of making some kind of progress. Mike stares at them, crossing his arms over his chest as he does.

He was a thinker and a dreamer, that’s what his mama always said to him. It was about knowing things. He had seen Derry in pictures and through words penned years and years ago, had made dioramas and scaled models of it with construction paper and tape and colored pencils on the floor of the barn when he had the time to. Seeing it for the first time in the present, the people it held and the secrets it had underfoot, it was a lot.

He looked up at the sun filtering its way through the trees above head, back down at the mosaic they created on the ground. Summer, the phoenix sang within him. He was in his element, there was never a time where he was more powerful, especially at the zenith of the the midday sun.

“Library.” He says then, fondness coloring his voice. He had never been, but his parents had always brought him home too many books from it and he had always made quick work of them as they came. “We need full records of the township, historical and present if possible.” They may need to go to the courthouse for those things, but it was worth trying. Besides, he wanted to try to get the boys to take the long way through Basey Park. More time outside, more time watching the sun play off Bill Denbrough’s hair and lighting the auburn and the mahogany of his hair, seeing the way it freckled Richie’s tanned skin infinitesimally.

“...It’s a beautiful day and you’re dragging me to the library? Boy, you better be happy the Loser’s Club is a democracy because I would have you booted to the curb, Mikey-Boy.” Richie pouts before giving him an easy wave. “I kid, mostly. You owe me some ice cream after this.”

“W-w-with what money, R-Rich?” Bill shoves him slightly and the were actually stumbles.

“Fine, _Bill_ can get me ice cream on your behalf.” Richie fixes his glasses as he steadies himself once more. “And just for the shove, it’s gonna be a triple scoop in a chocolate dipped waffle cone WITH sprinkles. Hope you got yourself some lawn mowin’ money Denbrough, cos I’m not fuckin’ around.”

Bill laughs even though Mike knows he doesn’t want to. It’s the guilt. He had seen it in the other boy’s eyes and voice when they had sat across from one another at that kitchen table. It had been funny, in a sense. His own calluses had been burned away but Bill had some of the finest he had ever felt. What had they come from? What caused such things upon the other’s palms?

“I’ll pay you back.” He says as they begin to move. Bill looks to him in complete surprise, brows jumping with it. “Eventually, just give me some time.” Hanlon’s didn’t freeload. They worked hard, got down into the dirt without regrets.

“Jesus.” Bill’s tongue doesn’t skip over his teeth when he says the word in a low voice. “Mike, y-yuh-ya don’t got t-to.” it comes back just like that and Mike finds it all sorts of sweet and charming and perfect for Bill.

“Eventually.” He nods firmly at Bill and he’s giving a weak noise before he relents. He sees it then and gives a loud gasp. Not the demon, thankfully, God knows what he’d do if he saw the demon, but something still strange and fantastical.

“Paul Bunyan!” He says as he runs up to the statue. “It’s really real! I read about him but I didn’t know they still had him up!”

“This fuck.” Richie says in a venomous voice as he draws up next to Mike. “I had a nightmare about him once when we first got here, it was surreal.”

“A Puh-Pu-Paul Bunyan nightmare.” Bill says in a judging voice, causing Richie to round on him. “W-What! I’m not uh-uh-allowed to make jokes!?”  
“Only one funny man can be in this group, and it’s me, you got that?” Bill’s really laughing now, not a tinge of regret to it. Mike can feel his own laugh beginning to bubble up and out of him, enchanted by the strange camaraderie of this small group he all but fell into. “Hey Paul! Fuck you! You heard me!” Richie brings down an open palm against the statue’s enormous foot, causing a loud metallic noise to ring out. There’s a nearby disappointed gasp and they’re all turning to see a mother of three ushering her children away with an angry look. “Oh tits. Shit. _Fuck!_ I can’t stop! I’m sorry ma’am!” He calls after after before giving a groan.

“I think you need a censor button.” Mike says sympathetically.

“Beep B-Beep.” Bill concludes with a firm nod.

“Beep beep.” Mike repeats and it feels god damn natural, like he should have been saying it for years now. Hell, everything about this feels normal. He doesn’t have to question how easily he fell in with this rag tag group of losers or why they even found him in the first place. It simply just is.

Both Bill and Richie are looking at him like they’ve just come to the realization as well but before either of them can say anything about it Bill’s going stiff as a board at his side. “This fuck again.” Richie says under his breath after a moment of searching (with his eyes and his nose, Mike notes.) Mike turns too, seeking out exactly what the werewolf was talking about.

It’s all too easy to find them.

The first is a pale slip of a boy and not a pretty pale like Bill and Bev. No, it’s a deathly pale, the kind that fell over dying things in their last moments. He’s got eyes that burn low and hot like coal and a mouth set into a thin, ugly smirk. He’s standing in the park with another boy and this one is worse yet, a black hole of a being, a reaper in the flesh. They’re watching Bill, observing him like predators, slow and purposeful. “I mean it Bill, I’ll straight up wreck their shit.” Richie snarls.

They see him too, Mike knows. His brown skin, the wiry texture of his hair, how it all shines in the sun. The dark haired boy’s thick lip curls in disgust and his friend follows suit, although it’s more of a slow and calculated thing brimming with hate.

“We should go.” He says in a cautious voice. Not the way they originally intended either. He didn’t want to cross paths with them. Bill’s still terribly still and quiet next to them, a shudder wracking through him once Mike lays his hand upon him. “Bill.”

“God.” He whispers. This same boy faced a demon without regrets, struck up a deal with him without a second thought, and yet here he was… shaking and trembling in the face of two mere mortals. “P-Puh-Pluh…” He bites down on his tongue and hisses just so.

Richie’s faster than he is, looping his arm with Bill’s and then with Mike’s, pulling them forward and down the tree lined streets. Everything feels twisted up by their appearance. Every glance thrown their way is dirty and suspecting, every step feels like it’s wrong and needs to be second guessed. The humidity is oppressing… “Richie.” Bill gasps out, a plea of sorts. Richie doesn’t heed it. “RICHIE.”

They stop only because Mike pulls Bill towards him, untangling the human from the were without even having to try. Bill falls against his chest and he can feel the way he trembles, a fine thing that wracks through his entire frame. Richie stares at them and then blows out a low breath. “‘M sorry.” He rubs a hand across his face, masking those dark circles under his eyes. “It’s either protect or attack and I kind of just…”

Bill’s got his face against his chest still. The smaller boy peeks out at Richie then, green eyes guarded as he begins to speak. “S-Suh-Soh-kay Rich.” Those green eyes flick up to him and then back to Richie. “‘M s-s-sorry…”

“What did they do to you?” Just like that Bill draws back and away, a fluid motion that puts more than just a few feet of distance between them.

“I’m gonna kill them.” Richie says darkly, seemingly seeing something, maybe even scenting it on the other. Bill whips his head back and forth, causing Richie to put on ugly smile that’s the wrong kind of lopsided. “Listen Bill, I’m three days from wolfing out. I’m not gonna be able to help myself. If Henry Bowers and his weird friend go missing, that’s just how it’s gonna be.”

“Jesus.” Oh Richie, that wasn’t the right thing to say at all, Mike things sadly. Bill looks sick and he’s taking a few more steps backwards, like he’s suddenly becoming aware of what they really were. Other, other, _other_ \- hiding away in human skin.

“H-Home…” He gulps out. “Eye-yi-I…. Sh-should get _home_.”

“Bill!” Mike speaks too late. He’s already running off, the shoes he had borrowed from Ben slapping down on the pavement, causing him to nearly trip in their too largeness. He rights himself without a moment’s hesitation and just like that he’s gone.

It’s just like when he woke up all over again, him and Richie alone together. He turns to the werewolf and before the other can even open his mouth and start Mike holds up his hand. “You meant well, but they’re not like us Rich.”

If he was a wolf Richie’d have his tail tucked between his legs, his ears pinned nervously. Instead he’s just a twenty something with broken glasses and scabs on his knobby knees. A barely adult with tired eyes and messy hair with the weight of two worlds on his shoulders. “I just wanted to help.” He’s so quiet, so sad…

“Then let’s help him.” He slings an arm around his newfound friend. “The best way we can.”

And with that they begin their trek to the library.

 

-

 

He doesn’t go home.

Bill finds himself at the Barrens, watching as the Kendeskaug rolls on in a soft and soothing way. His heart races and skips in comparison, a wild and frightened thing. He lets out a low breathe and wipes at the sweat upon his brow, half formed in the heat and half because of how he had run until he had found himself here.

The air smells of dried mud and river water and the beginnings of the wet, hot heat that would be the summer in Derry. He turns his hand over and begins to trace the scar there, eyes never once leaving the water, recalling his younger years with a startling clarity, remembering the first time he had brought Georgie here.

He had been seventeen and George had just turned six and he had gotten a plastic boat as one of his presents. It was so easy to shower the younger Denbrough in gifts, with his cherubic smile and easy laughter. He had had a creased Vonnegut tucked under his arms as they took to the streets, Georgie’s hand finding his just like that the moment they stepped off the front porch.

They had sat among the reeds and the high grass and Georgie had made a mess of his shorts and shirt as he had splashed along the shore. It wasn’t dangerous this time of year, the summer rains not quite causing it to swell to the point of danger. His own memories of his near drowning hadn’t stopped him from coming here. In fact it had been the opposite with Bill. All he had wanted was to come here every day, hoping to find some kind of sign of his guardian angel.

 _I saw him though_ , Bill thought to himself in an insistent way. He had been so sure of it in that unreality the demon had spelled them all into. The boy who had led him to the standpipe. His appearance just led to more questions, all of them rattling around in his brain. Write, he should write, he should write, he should-

“Bill.”

He’s been worrying the scar so much that it’s opened up some. There’s blood pooling in the palm of his hand but that’s not what’s scaring him.

It’s the demon’s voice inside of his head.

“ _Hello, Bill_.” It purrs. “ _What’s wrong?_ ”

This is worse than when he had seen Henry and Patrick in the park. Both had come so unexpectedly but at least Richie and Mike had been there, had been able to see the two of them and see the hate in their eyes. This though? He was alone. All alone...

(Right?)

“ _Cat got your tongue? Or should I say phoenix?_ ” It’s tone pitches with unmistakable disgust. “ _I wonder how Zach Denbrough would feel about his son turning into a fucking queer for a-_ ”

“ _S-stu-Stop_.” He stands so quickly his head spins with it, all the blood (blood, so much blood, he was brimming with it wasn’t he?) returning to where it belonged in his body (that’s right in his body, not outside.) “You’re not supposed to be here.”

 _“Am I? Or are you just going crazy, Billy-Boy?”_ The river is the laughter suddenly, bubbling up, oh so loud in his ears. _“Has any of this been real?”_

Real, real, real.

(blink)

Real.

(blink)

Real?

“ _Real?_ ” His voice, the demon’s, both?

He’s on his back gasping up at the perfect sky above. Not a cloud above, just unceasing blue that stretches on and on and on. Just like before, years ago, except this time he’s breathing too fast and unevenly. His fingers claw at the ground beneath him, eyes rolling back with a gasping noise. Blood on the ground, blood inside of him, blood outside…

 _Get out of my head!_ His voice is much clearer here, not a stutter to be found inside of his own head. Even if it isn’t really the demon, he can tell whatever it is to leave here without worry, without hesitation...

 _Make me._ It taunts back.

He screams then. Tips his head back until he can’t see that perfect sky and screams and screams and screams. It’s a broken thing that continues to break as it tears out of him until it’s nothing but air passing his lips, his lungs cramping the only thing that reminds him that he’s actually doing it, but it’s a scream all the same.

A scream for every moment of fear he had felt over the past forty-eight hours, for Georgie’s sudden disappearance, for all of the pain and hurt. A scream for when Henry had pressed him into the side of the school against the bricks and had whispered that he’d kill him, that’d he really do it this time, and for every time he had come back with bruises hidden under his clothes. A scream for the way he had run from school to home almost every day after that near drowning, never once daring to look back.

A scream himself, past, present, and future.

It becomes audible again as he curls his fingers into his palms and feels the bite of his nails against the wound, a strange rhyme coming to his mind as he does.

_“AMIDST THE MIST AND COLDEST FROST, HE THRUSTS HIS FIST AGAINST THE POSTS, AND STILL INSISTS HE SEES THE GHOSTS!”_

_You…_ It hisses and just like that!

It

(whatever _It_ was)

was gone.

He lays there panting, tears spilling out from the corners of his eyes, ears ringing from it and then he looks up, seeing how the sky is now dark. Not night dark, but storm dark, with gray racing clouds that hang in a low and threatening way above head. The first drop of rain touches right upon the center of his brow, then another upon his lip. Then a hundred, a thousand, maybe even a million upon his entire frame.

 _It feels like forgiveness_ , he can’t help but think as his eyes close, lashes fluttering over the iris.

It feels like bliss.

-

“Town of Derry, huh?”

She turns to her girlfriend. She’s gone and dyed her hair in the gas station sink and it’s now a stunning shade that could be best described as ‘dark chocolate.’ Her temples are still dark with it and she swears she can smell the scent of boxed chemicals upon it from here.

“We’ve got about five more hours to go.” She stretches and her shirt rides up, showing the scars that decorate her torso. She knows the story behind each one, stitched up just about almost all of them, most definitely kissed each and every one five times over at this point. She smiles then and she’s so damn beautiful. “Think you can manage, Kay?”

“I dunno Audra.” She brushes the hair back from her face, grimacing when her fingers come away stained. “Babe…”

“That’s what you get!” She laughs. “You have to be patient.”

“But I can’t keep my hands off you, not even for a second.” She kisses her then, careful not to get anywhere near her hair or the nape of her neck, fingers sliding down her back until they brush up against the butt of the gun that’s tucked into the back of her pants. “You ready to raise some hell?” Kay asks.

“You bet your ass I am.” And just for that Kay squeezes hers until Audra laughs again, a hearty sound. “Now c’mon,” Audra smiles and it’s as dangerous as she is. “We’ve got some monsters to hunt. Now let's go."

 


	10. Chapter 10

The storm came from nowhere. Eddie had watched as the sky’s color bloomed like a bruise, bringing with it a sticky humidity and the petrichor smell of summer rain. The first drop of rain hit the pane and he watched as it made its way down the window in an unhurried, casual way of sorts. It was still two more hours until he would be able to exist alongside his friends and something in him knew that none of them would be awake for it.

He hated this.

There had to be something he could do.

The sky opens up with a rumble of distant thunder and suddenly Derry is caught in a deluge. He hears windows slam above head and the sound of Beverly's laughter pealing out of her without warning. “Those poor boys!” He hears her snort. “I don’t think they brought an umbrella with them.”

“Can you blame them?” They’re making their way down the hallway now on careful, quiet feet. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky just now.”

“Do you think…?” Bev’s not laughing anymore. He sneaks to the bottom of the stairs and peers up at them, watching as the dhampir leans her body up against the railing.

“No, no.” Ben reassures her. “This is a cleansing rain, Bev. Universe is washing all the bad away.” He watches as he puts his hand over hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a reassuring way.

“Well it can take that son of a bitch with it.” She sighs. Like the itsy-bitsy spider, Eddie wants to shout up at her. Wash the spider out.

_Wash the spider out._

It should be a throwaway thought, one that crosses his mind in a fleeting way before taking it’s leave, never to be thought of again, but instead it snags. Just like a web, Eddie can’t help but realize. “Okay.” He says to himself. “Okay, sure, why not.” It’s something and _something_ is better than _nothing_ so why not just go with it? He scurries into the main room, eyes racing across the titles that lined the shelves on the wall. It’s days like this where he missed technology. He was Other World now though, whether he liked it or not, and it would simply turn to static or go offline the moment he touched it. Old school it was then, for the rest of his un-life.

“Wow, depressing much, Eddie?” He shakes his head at himself (talking to yourself was also something that was commonplace when you were a sad and lonely ghost.)  He picks books at random, a few _somethings_ on the shelf with no real rhyme or reason. They’re just somethings that will lead to other somethings and maybe those somethings will lead to answers. Maybe he’s hopeful, maybe he’s desperate, maybe he’s just lonely, looking to fill the void until the moon comes along to ease the pain.

He pushes those thoughts away, focusing instead on grabbing one book at a time with his mind. The first almost comes easily, just a twinge at his temple before it wobbles it way over and into his arms. The second though causes him to suck in a sharp breath, sweat breaking out across his brow as it lifts from the shelf before falling to the ground before it can reach him. “Sorry!” He yells despite knowing no one can hear him. “C’mon, bastard…” It jumps a few times on the ground before he finally relents and drags it forward on the floor.

By now Eddie’s out of breath, a splitting headache cutting its way from one temple to the next. He sits down on the floor, covers his face with his hands, a weak noise leaving him. C’mon Kaspbrak.

 _Eddie, don’t do that now. You stop doing that_ right _now. You’re going to hurt yourself!_

_Ma, stop it! Stop fussin! C’mon!_

_Don’t tell me what to do, young man. I’m your mother. Now you’ll stop right now or I’ll cry, I mean it! You don’t want to make your mother cry._

Years later he would come to the realization that this was abuse, whether Sonia Kapsbrak knew it or not. Emotionally manipulating into him into agreeing, into conceding time and time again. He closes his eyes and drew in a slow breath, filling his lungs with imaginary air that he doesn’t actually need. It shudders out he draws in another, finding comfort in the action. It was just like his inhaler, punching air into his lungs, helping him breathe and live and do normal things like normal boys could…

 _Eddie, don’t do that now._ That’s not his mother’s voice now in his head, it’s Richie’s. _You’re gonna shit yourself if you keep that up!_ He can imagine the other throwing his head back, howling with laughter, hands clasped over his stomach. _How’s that one? Pretty funny, huh?_

He laughs and wipes at his face, not sure if it’s sweat there or tears. It _would_ be Richie Tozier that distracted him from his God awful memories. He thinks about the werewolf, about how he had touched the side of his face without knowing it, gently without even trying, the bannister the only thing separating them if you weren’t counting the fact that Eddie didn’t actually exist.

How could such a boy be a beast as well?

 _He’s wild, Eddie. Tough and dangerous, not the kind of boy you wanted to affiliate yourself with._ Sonia counters in his mind sharply. _You stay away from him._

Stay away from _them,_ from boys, he thinks as he brings the first book into his lap, paging through it absently, each turn of the page causing his lower lid to twitch with pain. It was the unspoken elephant in the room between his mother and himself when he had been alive, his homosexuality. He had remained closeted until his death but she had known despite his best efforts. No girlfriends, no interest in women whatsoever if he was being completely honest with himself. Really, Eddie would say, if it weren’t for the fact that he liked men in the first place that it would be his mother’s face and voice imposing itself onto almost every girl he met that caused him to steer far, far away.

“Focus.” He reprimands himself, feeling the itch of a slip coming up on him. Stay in the present, away from the past. He forces himself to look down at the page he had flipped open to in the first book, eyes bugging out when he reads and sees what’s on the page.

Spiders.

“Holy shit.” He breathes. The page feels warm under his finger and he looks up and around at the house. “You do this?”

The floors shift under him in an uncertain way. “Okay, okay. Not you then.” He smooths his hand across the wood without actually touching it. Then who, or what? Certainly not the demon, right? Besides, it’s just facts about spiders, all sorts of arachnids and creepy, crawling things. Coincidence didn’t exist in this world though, as much as he wanted to call it that.

He slides the second book over to him and stares at it. _Lore and Legend_ , the title reads in ornate, looping text. “Show me what you got.” Eddie places his lack of hand upon the embossed cover, fingers tracing the gilt letters as he closes his eyes. “Show me an answer.”

The Universe bent inwards, unknown to Eddie Kaspbrak in that moment, beginning to thumb idly through the book’s pages as it did. An answer was the least it could do, it supposes. Ben Hanscom had told them all correctly: the Universe and it’s magic did not take kindly to having things demanded of it, but then again, Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t necessarily the Universe’s to claim. He became as such when the Moon made her nightly rounds, bringing him to life, but she loved him so dearly anyways that it could not even begin to reason with her to letting him go.

A night’s child is he, she would muse. Mine now, thriving in my embrace.

So this is what it is left with. Making up for the fact that it had let the poor thing die in the first place, even if it hadn’t been at fault. No, see, that was the demon’s fault. Not even from this world- a devouring thing set on laying waste to all that was here. At least, that’s what the Universe had initially thought. It had no right being here, ripping up the strings of fate it had laid down once upon a time, when this world had been nothing but stardust and void long, long ago. And yet It had done just that, continued to do that with each passing day, tangling and tearing, but It wasn’t destroying.

No, the Universe had realized, a slow dawning of sorts as time went on. It was making something awful instead.

Something _new_.

“Oh God.” Eddie whispers as he opens his eyes, eyeing the text it’s presented to him with a growing mix of fascination and fear. It was nonsense to him, of course, but there’s the the undeniable shape of It upon the two page spread.

Eight legged and massive with eyes as black as pitch, looking almost thoughtful as it rested upon hundreds of thousands of strings of spider silk. Eddie touches the page, shudders, giving a weak noise as his fingers almost seemed to stick to the paper. ‘ _Creator, Controller, Destroyer_ ’ the Universe whispers into his mind, providing the translation to him, causing Eddie to give a terrible moan in response. ‘ _Name It_.’

‘ _Ch_ _ö_ _d’_ He dare not speak the name that comes to him aloud, already knowing what invoking that could mean without actually knowing.

‘ _No._ ’ It denies him. ‘ _Again. Try again._ ’

His lashes flutter, eyes darting underneath the lids as he digs deeper and deeper within his mind. He presses his fingers into the paper without realizing it until he’s all but falling into the book from within.

No, not falling.

Slipping

Slipping into another reality.

(Slipping)

( _Slip_ )

“World weaver.” He names It aloud, pulling back and away from the book, coming back to himself. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off a bad dream.

(like he’s brushing off cobwebs)

“Bev!” He screams, cursing when no one can hear him. He’s up and scrambling, leaving the books behind, and the Universe can’t help but smile because Eddie Kaspbrak has done the impossible, done something no living being could do, _should_ be able to...

He’s gone and rearranged the strings of Fate

Just

like

_that._

-

Richie Tozier did _not_ belong in a library, no sir.

He’s never been more out of his element in his life. Everything is hushed and subdued inside of here, everyone’s heads bent low as people kept to themselves, books lined like barricades around them.

“ _Gee-zus_.” He announces and quite a few people look over in their direction with grimaces of disapproval and heavy glares of annoyance. He blanches and holds his hands up, smiling sheepishly. “Whoops, sorry!”

Mike’s eyes roll up towards the ceiling and he gives a long, hard sigh before he’s returning his gaze to Richie. “Let’s find a corner so you don’t cause any more trouble.”

“But that’s my middle name! Richie ‘Trouble’ Tozier.” It rolls off the tongue like magic, although it would feel much more natural announcing it with some flair rather than hissing it under his breath as they stalk through the aisles. “And you’re Michael ‘no nonsense’ Hanlon, at least you _will_ be if you keep this up.”

“Hush, Richie.” He says without any real heat to his words, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at him. “We’ve got to focus.”

Quiet and focus, two of the very things that he made sure not to do unless he _had_ to. It was a necessity at this point though, he supposes. Something he has to do to get this damn job done.

They skirt past towering shelves filled with God knows what, each more imposing than the last to the were. “You know, if I were to describe myself Hanlon, I’d have to go with ruggedly handsome and brimming with street smarts. I’m not exactly the bookworm type.” He skims his fingers along the top of some books, making a noise of disgust when he sees all of the dust that’s accumulated for God knows how long.

“Well it’s a good thing I am.” He stops suddenly and Richie all but collides with him, apologies already springing to his lips. “Shush, you’re fine, that’s on me. Though you think those glasses would be good for something.”

“You dissin these? They’re iconic!” He pulls the damn things off his nose and holds them out to Mike. “Lemme see what you look like with them on.”

“Richie.” He starts but Richie holds up his hands, effectively silencing him.

“It’s a rite of passage. Everyone has to try on the glasses before they can claim being my friend.” That was absolute and complete bullshit but Mike didn’t need to know that. He had a joke up his sleeve and he wanted to bust it out real bad and the phoenix was the perfect, unsuspecting target.

“Did Bill try them on?” Mike says in a level voice and Richie can’t help but cock his head at that.

“‘Did Bill try them on?’” He repeats in a slow and thoughtful way, tapping his lip with his index finger in an even more slow and even more thoughtful way than his tone.

“Richie.” He says again, his voice straining this time around.

Might as well dive right in and get this one out of the way. “I just think there seems to be a connection of sorts between the two of you! I mean, he _did_ save your life and all, but he’s saved my life too, and I’m gonna tell you right now that I don’t wanna spend a moment of my life kissing Bill Denbrough on the lips.” Mike’s mouth falls open but Richie plows on. “Now, don’t get me wrong, if he needed mouth to mouth then I’d put my pride aside and help my friend, sure! But that’s not a daily occurrence! At least… I hope it’s not.” He pauses, just long enough to catch is breath but not nearly long enough for Mike to get in a word edgewise, his cheeks now stained with embarrassment. “God, could you imagine?”

“Imagine what, Richie?” Mike manages tightly.

“Kissin’ Bill!” And just like that Mike’s jolting forward, giving a startled noise before he begins to choke on air. “I’m KIDDING, MICHAEL! It’s a joke! Christ!”

Mike stomps up to him, all steam and no actual fury and fire. “Richie Tozier, I swear, I will find your momma and your daddy and I will tell them that you are not fit to be the alpha of your pack with this kind of bullshit you like to pull, lord in _HEAVEN_ you cannot be saying that kind of nonsense!” A chorus of shushes come from around the corner and Mike winces before he shakes his head helplessly, dropping it into his hands with a groan of defeat.

It wasn’t nonsense though. Not given this reaction, not given the way they looked at each other already. Like mates, Richie realized. Soul sworn to one another in this life and in the next. “Ah, hell, you’re too late, they’ve probably already written me off.” He had no way of reaching out to them and then there was the fact that no matter where he went, no matter how far he ran as either a wolf or as a man, Richie couldn’t find a pack. Not even a loner to beg to take message home to the Other World. It was just like the portals. They were dead and gone to them until they rid themselves of the demon. “Dunno how much you know about werewolves, Mike, but that’s pretty common among us.” The glasses are still hanging from his hand, now dangling uselessly at his side. “Wow, that got depressing real quick...”

“Richie.” Mike says for the third time and it’s God awful hearing how miserable this iteration is.

“Put on the glasses, Mike.” He says in response, holding them out once more, near desperate at this point. “C’mon, for me?” Richie offers his toothiest grin then, hating how forced it feels. Take it Mike, take the hint, take the bait, take it and drop it before I start to get emotional-!

He takes them and Mike’s scorching hot compared to his own heated skin. There’s a few moments before Mike clears his throat. “How do I look?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He throws his hands out with a wild and natural grin, his gaze unfocused. “I dunno Mike! I can’t see!”

There’s a few moments of silence and Mike throws his head back with a roaring laugh, hands clapped to his stomach as he bends backwards. “ _HOLE-EE SHIT_ , TOZIER!” He gulps out between laughs and gasps. Richie’s laughing then too, bending at the knees with the action. “You are- you are _too_ much!”

“Hey!” They both whip around to see a stern librarian, nothing like the kind you would normally expect. She has tattoos up and down her arms and half her head is shaved, the lanyard around her neck the only indication that she worked her. “You’re making too much of a ruckus, I’m going you to leave!”

“I-I’m sorry ma’am!” Mike manages breathlessly. “We were just, my friend here he-!” He wipes at his eyes under the glasses, already snickering again. “We need your historical section.” Finally Mike collects himself, standing up tall and proud, looking very much the upstanding young man he ought to be.

“Do you now?” She arches her tattooed brows at them, unimpressed. “And why’s that?”

“Don’t deny us our knowledge, woman!” Richie thunders before Mike can stop him. There’s a moment where they all look at one another, the statement settling between them like a stone in water, the ripples spreading quickly. She pins them with a mounting fury of which Richie has never seen before in his life. “T-That is to say, w-we have… we have things that we wish to learn, and where better than here, in this beautiful place of wonder!?” He smiles in a hopeful way but he knows full well with how the muscles of his face pull that it’s more of a grimace than anything.

“Get out.” She seethes and he’s never skedaddled out of somewhere faster than his life. Mike is following right after, slipping his glasses into his hand like the perfect baton pass. They draw even more attention as they run out the front doors and into the Derry summer air, plenty of people tsk’ing and shaking their heads at the receding back.

“Okay, so that could have gone worse!” Richie says as he shoves his glasses on, noticing how dark the sky is, how the air smells. “No, wait, I take it back!!!”

The sky opens up just like that.

“Fuck!” Richie shrieks as he’s soaked through to the bone within moments. When he turns he finds Mike just standing there, literally steaming as the rain hits his skin, staring at him with wide eyes as thunder cracks overhead. “Of course! Of-fuckin-course! Fuck you, sky! Bastard!”

Mike tips his head back and holds his arms out, closing his eyes with a pleased noise as he begins to spin in a slow circle. “What are you doing, Mike?!” Richie shouts at him. But Mike spins on and on, slow rotations as he holds his hands up to the sky. “Christ almighty, c’mon man.”

“Just one more minute.” Mike says a bit breathlessly and when their eyes meet Richie draws in a surprised breath, seeing the flame that burns there in the phoenix’s eyes, lighting them from within. “Haven’t felt rain on this skin yet. Rich.” He gives a blissful sigh, reaching his hands up, up, up as he stretches his limbs out and to the stormy sky above.

He shoves his glasses up his nose and sighs, squinting up at the sky with a dissatisfied noise. “Alright, bad start, but we can fix this.” Mike smiles at him after a full minute of basking, bright as the sun. “But maybe let me do the talking this time, yeah?”  
“Fair.” Richie relents and with that they’re off again, skipping past growing puddles and the tiny streams that cut a path down the side of the road, disappearing into sewers. For a moment Richie could only pause, eyes drawn to a sewer grate. There was something in that glooming darkness, something that shouldn’t be there…

“Richie!” Mike calls from up ahead and he blinks the rain water out of his eyes, looking back one final time before shaking his head. Bill had done away with It for a whole week. You had nothing to worry about, Tozier.

Still…

He hesitates for only a moment more, staring into the pitch of it, suddenly imagining blood bubbling out and onto the street, swelling with rotted and broken things, the demon emerging from it all with It’s yellow eyes and feral smile brimming with hate. It shed It’s skin, becomes the not-wolf again. “Almost a full moon, Richie.” It cackles in a cruel way at him. “Can you _feel_ it?”

 _Yes_ , the wolf answers silently from within, a damning growl that shakes his bones.

 _Shut up_ , he hisses at it.

“You’re not real. You’re not.” He tells the demon on a shuddering breath. “Bill banished you.”

( _Right?_ )

“Do you really know that?” It heaves once, twice, full body spasms, before It spews ichor out from It’s split mouth into the blood running at their feet. There’s things in there too, traces of eldritch horrors that have no place being here, from the darkest depths of the Other World. “Billy might have banished me but I’ve been here for far too long to not have some kind of hold on this world, Richie. You should know better. I’m in your head. I’m in _all_ of your heads, Richie-Rich.”

It pads forward, more black gushing from between It’s teeth and lips and toes, painting the blood darker yet. “Six days now, Richard. You’ve had months and months to do something and now you think you’re going to get it all figured out in six days?” It throws It’s head back with a crackling, broken laugh. “A real gut-buster from the funny man, eh? But are you going to be laughing, Richie, when I kill all your friends, rip them to shreds and break their bones? I don’t think so. Oh no… I don’t think you’ll be laughing at all.”

It jumps and Richie raises his arms to protect himself, only to watch as It explodes into black smoke around him. _In your head, in your head_ he hears the demon coo. He covers his mouth and nose, falling back onto his ass into the water, pedaling backwards and away from it. Get out, get out, get OUT!  
“Richie!”

He lashes out only to have his wrist caught by Mike. It’s raining even harder now, if that’s even possible. His hair is plastered to his head at this point and he has to blink the water out of his eyes to see properly. “Hey! Hey! C’mon.” Mike’s practically begging him at this point, face screwed up in confused agony. “Richie, please.”

“The demon.” He bites out, his teeth clicking together awkwardly. “It was… It…”

“Not real, Richie.” Mike’s burning him but it doesn’t process until it’s too late, until there’s a ring of red around his wrist, bordering on second degree by the time it all catches up to him. For a moment they stare at each other before a weak, pained noise slides out of him. Mike pulls back with a horrified gasp, bringing a hand to his mouth. “Richie, I’m sorry, I-”

“It’ll heal.” Still, it _hurts_ , radiating up the entire length of his arm. He stands suddenly, pushing past the pain. “It’s trying… trying to distract us.” No more fucking around. It was serious business time. He touches the already peeling skin, the beginnings of his claws popping a blister in the process. “...Let’s go.”

Mike watches him, then nods, and they’re off once more.

 

-

“This is bullshit.” Audra slams her hand against the wheel. They (read: she) had gone and hydroplaned the car the moment they had crossed into Derry, not expecting the rain whatsoever and the way it caught in the ditches that lined the side of the road. Now they were pretty much floating in a ditch, waiting for help. That or a lifeboat, she supposes. Kay’s slumped up in all sorts of odd angles in the passenger seat, idly thumbing through her phone, laced up boots kicked up on the dashboard. “How long does it take for a towing service to show up?” She bitches, knowing full well she’s bitching, taking complete satisfaction in the level of bitchiness she’s able to convey in that moment.

“Apparently a little over thirty minutes.” Kay drawls, eyes not once leaving the phone. Audra blows out a frustrated breath, eyes cutting across the windshield as she tries to see beyond the rain sloughing down the glass. “Hey, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” Her partner touches her wrist before sliding their fingers together, finally looking up from her phone with a beautiful smile. “At least we’re not submerged!”

“Don’t start, knowing our luck…” She sighs irritably before reaching down to pop the seat back, staring up at the sunroof, her dyed locks spreading out under her.

“Mind if I join you?” Kay doesn’t even wait, knocking back her chair as well. For a moment it’s just that, the two of them staring up at the rain in silence as it hits the roof of the car, nothing else but that, but then Kay’s shifting on her side and Audra can’t help but turn towards her in response.

“You’ve got the look. The thinking look.” She touches her face and begins to smooth her thumb over her brow. “Start talkin.”

“Just…” This was their thing. Kay smoothing away the furrowed lines upon her brow until she had it all out in the open, every thought off her chest finally. She draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes, listening to the rain and thunder outside the car. “This is big. Really big. This is our licenses on the line, and our livelihoods…”

“And it’s gonna be fine. It always is.”

“But we’ve never faced something like this.” She sits up, hair cascading down her back as she does. “Otherworld spilling out, warping a whole town? They’ve reported a witch performing outside of covenant conduct, a lone werewolf, and the vamp? Not to mention there was that fire and God knows what else” There had been talk of demons but no one had really believed that. That’s why they had sent them out, not some higher ranking official. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

_I just don’t want you to get hurt._

Kay is following suit, combing through her spiked locks. Without even thinking about it Audra reaches out, her hand finding the scar that climbs Audra’s throat and collarbone. Werewolf bite. It had almost gone and caused her to change if not for the silver they had pressed into the wound until they had burned it out of her. The skin was puckered and pink now but Audra could remember when it had bubbled up in a furious red as they pressed links of silver into it again and again. The way she had screamed, the way Audra had wanted to stop but knew she couldn’t.

Again and again and again and-

“Audra.” She puts her hand over hers, speaking softly. “Baby…”

A honk and they both look up. “Finally.” The concern is wiped away in an instant and she’s beaming. “See, luck is already changin’! No need to look so worried.”

She forces a smile for her girlfriend’s sake before she eases the back of her seat up once more. The tow guy takes his time ambling over after he parks and for a moment Audra’s hit with the horrible sense deep in her gut, the kind that tells her to keep her window rolled up and her doors locked, like she’s deep in a bad part of the city somewhere wait too late at night for her own good. He steps closer and knocks on the window. “Ma’am!” He shouts to be heard through the glass. “I’d appreciate it if we could hurry this up.”

“Audra.” Kay touches her shoulder. “You okay?” Is she? She looks back at Kay before looking down at the middle console of the car, the butt of her gun (the safety flipped on) staring back at her from it before she looks back at the man.

“Peachy.” She says under her breath before rolling the window down, quickly laying a thick country accent over her words. “Sorry, sorry! Just trying to get my _en-surance_ info here, didn’t know if you’d be needin’ it.” She slips it out from her front pocket and into his hands. “Thanks much for coming to get us, we weren’t expectin’ this!” She gestures pleasantly at the summer rain, smiling the whole while.

He gives her an unimpressed stare as he takes the card, barely sparing it a glance. “So what’s our savior’s name?” She asks as he hands it back. Their eyes meet and she’s again suddenly all aware that something about this doesn’t feel right. Kay finally seems to take notice, shifting as close as she can over the gear shift, hand falling over where the gun resides.

“You can call me Tom, ladies.” He tips his hat at them and thunder cracks overhead, lighting him from behind. “Tom Rogan.” He smiles and it ain’t pretty.

Not one bit.

-

Bev is tipping the pot of noodles into the strainer when it happens.

Ten cats come skittering in through the cat door, each sopping wet and yowling at the top of their lungs. She drops the pot and spins, locating a sharp and terrible kitchen knife to place into her palm. “Ben.” She hisses his name, not entirely sure where he went, hoping the house will carry her voice to him. She levels the knife at the door, growling slightly as the cats begin to circle at her feet. “Name yourself!” She shouts at whoever stands at the other side.

Not the demon.

Please not the demon.

Anything _but_ the demon…

“Greta Bowie Keene.” Anything but answers from the other side of the door, distinctly female, totally alien and unknown. “If you don’t open up the door I will, Ms. Marsh.”

She still keeps the knife in hand as she takes several cautious steps forward, posing it as she puts her hand on the knob. “By the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone! Open the damn door, dhampir.” The stranger barks, causing Bev to jump in response.

Beverly jerks it open to see a girl her age done up in black, a high collar decorating her throat. The rain cascades around her, not once touching a perfect curl upon her head. Witch, her heart beats wildly. Witch, witch, witch. “May I?” She sighs and Bev does a quick sidestep, purposely gesturing with the knife. Greta eyes it, sniffing delicately. A high witch in Derry. But why now? How…?

Bill.

God damn it, Bill you bastard.

“Greta.” Beverly turns to see Ben at the doorway, books held tight to his chest. “I haven’t seen you since-”

“Before your grandmother’s passing, at the Fall Equinox.” Her lips curls. “Thank you for informing the coven, by the way, Mr. Hanscom.” She watches as Ben’s throat works, his guilt made apparent by the ruddy flush that covers his features instantaneously. “I understand though that _something_ happened that made it near impossible for you to contact us, and vice versa.” She approaches the sink and spells up the pot onto the counter without sparing it a second glance. “Would you like to explain, Benjamin?”

Jesus. Bev keeps to her corner of the kitchen, watching the interaction with wary eyes, perked up on her toes if the witch tries anything. “Things went a little south.” Ben starts, aiming for easy going, and Greta throws her head back with a cackling laugh, the picture perfect witch in that moment.

“A little?” She snarls. So much for letting Ben explain himself. Greta closes the space between them with long steps, skirts billowing out around her. “You released a _demon_ , Mr. Hanscom. We have not had access to the entire state of Maine _since_.” Oh God. Bev clenches her jaw, biting back a hiss when she feels the tips of her fangs poking into her lip. “The witch you made contact with months ago all but forgot you in a number of days after you left and by then we were too _late_.” Her tone goes as sharp as broken glass at the end as she stares down her nose at him.

Ben looks absolutely broken, shrinking in on himself with each word Greta throws at him, quick and easy as knives into the heart of a target. “Now, for whatever reason, we find that we can finally make contact with everyone here. Witches finally able to question why certain spells have not worked, why their memories seem patchy. All because of you, Mr. Hanscom.” Greta draws herself up. “Do you know why I am here?”

Ben's completely clueless but Bev knows without a doubt what’s happening. The formal dress, the way that Greta lays out Ben’s crimes at his feet one by one. _No_. She starts forward and suddenly finds herself hitting a wall. “Ben.” She gasps out and he looks at her, his own eyes going wide with understanding. “ _BEN!_ ” She screams, raising the knife to hack at the wall, desperate to rip and tear at the magic that now separates them. Greta looks over her shoulder and their eyes meet for a terrible moment before she smirks, a terrible, victorious thing. 

“By rule of the coven, I have been tasked with your arrest, Mr. Hanscom. You will be brought before the coven where you will be tested and put to trial.” She says it with no inflection, no kind of emotion, that smirk slipping away. Ben’s frozen in place and Bev can only scramble at the invisible wall, tears spilling over as she begins to scream. “If you are found guilty for your crimes, you will be excommunicated by the coven and stripped of your magic, as dictated by the three faced goddess.”

“You’ll KILL him!” Bev pounds her fists uselessly against the wall over and over again. “You can’t!”

“I can, Miss Marsh.” Greta says over her shoulder. “And I am.” She focuses back on Ben again, standing stiffly, not a hint of regret in her posture. “Now, come with me, Mr. Hanscom.”

Their eyes meet and Bev can see the fear in Ben’s eyes, emphasized by the slow, shaking steps he takes to meet Greta. No, no no _no_. A terrible moan leaves her as she once again raises her fist to the wall, dragging her palm down it desperately, palms slipping with sweat down it. They can’t lose Ben now.

 _She_ can’t lose Ben now.

“After the proceedings have concluded, the demon will be taken care of.” She's taking off her gloves now, tracing symbols in the air. Spelling their departure as easy as breathing, without even breaking a sweat.

“You can’t leave them to deal with It alone.” Finally something tears out of Ben, a fury of which Bev’s never seen in him before. Greta cocks her head to the side, going very quiet and very still in response.  Ben pushes, putting his foot down on after another until there's only inches between the two witches and for a moment, Bev's hopeful. “It’s not like anything we’ve ever seen before. It’s something that shouldn’t exist, Greta. I don’t know how it got here, but it’s…”

“No longer your problem, Benjamin.” Greta says coolly and before Bev can say anything else, before she can meet Ben’s eyes for more than a moment, before he can even finish mouthing her name.

They’re _gone_

just

like

that.


	11. Chapter 11

 

He steps into the house and it’s deathly quiet.

Bill pauses at the doorway, his hand on the frame, peering into the darkness. No lights on, not a peep to be heard. He musters his voice up, calling out his parent’s names into it, biting down on his tongue when his words tumble over themselves. He sounds like he’s ten again, Bill realizes. Voice weak and small and shaking.

The walk home had been strange. He had been alone and the rain hadn’t quit. It seemed as though the entire town of Derry had up and disappeared on him, leaving him to be the only one left alive. Wouldn’t that be something, he had thought to himself as he passed an abandoned bike on the side of the road. It could, the second thought was chilling. It could just do that...

He’s dripping water now all over the foyer, blinking it out of his eyes before pushing his rain slick hair off his face. He calls out their names again, a bit stronger this time, but still stuttering them all the same.

Padding into the kitchen, Bill finds a hasty note written out to him. They’ll be at the police station for more questioning, back later, that he could take care of food himself. It was his mom’s writing of course. He remembers the look on his father’s face again, bewildered and honestly, terrified…

What did you see, what did you see, what did you see?

Me, me, me.

(Me?)

He pulls at the bottom of his shirt and begins to inch it off his skin, grimacing at the way it clings to him. Earlier the rain had been cooling and kind, now it was just chilling him to the bone. Bill finally manages it off, throwing the sopping mess to the ground. Will they even notice it if you just leave it there, Bill? His lips curls and he passes it, moving to the stairs, fingers hooking into the elastic of his sweatpants. 

He has to pass George’s room to get to the bathroom. There’s no avoiding it. The door is closed and something in him is tempted to open it, but thunder outside causes him to give pause, loud enough to shake the entire house with warning. He shakes his head at himself before finally pushing his pants down his legs. He keeps his eyes lowered until he finds the tub, yanking viciously at the the knob until it’s scalding hot to the touch. He lets it run and turns.

Pale skin greets Bill when he does, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror. His moves his head left, then right, steps closer and presses his hands against the mirror.

(What did you see?)

( _ Me _ .)

He shudders and pulls his fist back, another intrusive thought pushing into his brain. Just break it, Bill. Make it match the one downstairs and then some more. He falters again, groaning low under his breath, clutching at the sink.

“I t-thu-thought I t-tuh-told y-you to g-gu-guh-get  _ out _ .” He tells his reflection. It sneers back before it slaps its hand against the glass.

No.

That was  _ him. _

He trips back in surprise and the world rushes around him. Bill manages a disbelieving laugh as he falls. You’ve gone and lost your brain, Bill. Nothing left but a boy and his heart, and that was broken too. His legs catch the lip of the tub and he hits his head hard on the opposite wall. Hard enough to see stars.  _ That ought to hurt _ , he thinks absently, but he’s laughing even harder as he breaks the surface.

Even as he slips into the rising water.

Even as he swallows it up.

Even as he begins to drown.

( _ More, and more, and more. _ )

Something pulls him up and out.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” 

Some _ one _ .

He splutters it all out and blinks the tub water from his eyes, looking up, up, up to see a boy with a halo of curls upon his head, with a careful mouth and eyes like the night time sky. And wings. Wings tipped in gold, white as snow.

_ There’s a beautiful boy in your bathtub, Bill Denbrough, and he’s your guardian angel  _ he tells himself moments before he falls into the black.

-

Mike’s sneakers squeak and squelch on the tile of the town hall.

This has to be the nicest place in Derry. He feels just awful tracking in the rain like they are but what are they supposed to do? There was no where else to go but Ben’s place and he knew neither of them were ready to show up empty handed.

He looks down at Richie’s wrist. It’s just a pale pink now that rings his wrist but he still feels awful for it. He had just been so scared when he saw the other boy seize up before giving a terrible cry, words spewing out of him, empty threats and nonsense to the phoenix until Richie had given them a panicked purpose.

The demon.

“God help us all.” He whispers under his breath as they make their way further in, past large oak doors that had to be a hundred years old, if not more. Derry was settled in the 1700s, that much he knew from reading and from the stories his grandparents told him about their grandparents, and further back before it had been the new world, when they had been the firebird to countless tribes, bringing sunlight and warmth to men and women alike. And further yet to before they had come to this world, when they had existed and had been hidden away in the perpetual night of the Otherworld. 

“Mikey.” Richie hisses and he jerks back into the present with a small noise of surprise. “You okay bud?”

“Just thinkin.” He does his best to reassure the other, knowing full well how on edge the were was after earlier. “About the after, I suppose.”

“After we fix things?” There’s one blessing to be found in this. Richie’s subdued, speaking no louder than a normal speaking voice, which in itself was a miracle even though he ought to be quieter in a place like this. “I keep thinking about that too. I uh, want you to know we’re not gonna make you come back with us.” Richie pauses, pushes his wet bangs back from his face. “I don’t even know if we’re gonna go back ourselves. I mean, I gotta see my parents at least… my sister… But I know if they make us stay, Bev’s gonna do everything in her power to break out.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” He can’t help it. He’s curious. Richie blinks out at him from behind rain speckled glasses before he gives a long, weary sigh. He ducks low then and Mike can’t help but raise a confused eyebrow as Richie proceeds to scuttle to the nearest corner.

“Rich…”

“SHH!” He gestures frantically and Mike can only give his own long sigh (though not nearly as long as Richie’s) before he’s walking over to the corner. “Really, you couldn’t… like, play it up a lil Hanlon?”

“Richie, please, just get to the point.” He pinches the space between his eyebrows, another sigh leaving him, nearing the length of Richie’s first one. It was almost comical how fast he went from being endeared to the werewolf to annoyed out of his damn mind with him. Richie leaned in, cupping his hand to his mouth as he began to whisper into Mike’s ear.

“Bev’s kind of a princess.”

“WHAT?!”

“OH, NOW YOU GET TO BE LOUD!” Richie yells back and Mike can only push at him with hot hands as the werewolf goes to step on his feet in response. Someone walks by in a very nice suit and gives them a scrutinizing look and they both straighten, offering their best award winning smiles. The man shakes his head, rolling his eyes, and continues on. “Okay, fuck, you got me off topic. What I was saying is Bev is kind of a big deal, but she’s not.”

“Please, for the love of God Richie, explain.” He begs.

“Let’s start with the easy stuff first. Clearly you know Bev’s a dhampir, that means she’s not a full fledged vamp.”

“Half human, half vampire.” Mike confirms. His parents didn’t like talking Otherworld but they made sure he got his facts straight if Otherworld ever came looking for him. “So Bev’s dad…”

“Went and knocked up a lady in a bloodlust fugue, of course.” Richie supplies. “She became his subjugate, her blood calling to his and the baby too, of course. Double whammy. They kept her around until Bev was born, and then they…” His eyes shutter and Mike doesn’t have to ask him to provide further detail. “Point is, daddy dearest is one of the five vampire ascendants, so despite Bev’s mixed blood, she does have a claim to his throne, it’s just… you know, the whole infertility thing, and the whole ‘you’re not pureblood thing’, and the whole… your dad basically raped a woman thing…” Richie grimaces. “God, please don’t tell Bev I told you all this.”

Beverly Marsh, undead royalty. Who would have thought with her freckled face and chipped nails and easy going smile. 

“Noted.” He can respect that, understand it too. “I do have one question though, does Ben know?” He could only imagine how that would go over.

“Yeah, I gave him the lowdown after I realized we weren’t going anywhere. Gotta say though, me and Bev? Did  _ not _ get along at first.” Richie gestures for them to start walking again. Mike follows, listening as his friend continues his strange and awful tale. “Sure, it’s a bit of a race thing. We think vamps are all stuck up snobs, they think we’re all savage slobs, blah blah blah. Point is, I’m just coming off a god damn change and she’s got bloodlust for days and we just about ripped each other apart when we popped through that portal back on the solstice, and it’s a good thing we didn’t because…”

“It would have been a war.” Mike whispers. A vampire princess and the up and coming alpha at each other’s throats? Killing the other? Killing each other?

“ _ Ick-zact-lee, bud-dee _ .” Richie does a little spin, pointing at Mike. “And wouldn’t have that just been perfect for the demon, hmm?”

His mouth falls opens as it all comes together. He swings his arm and snaps his finger as he does. “They wouldn’t have even noticed It!”

Richie claps his hands together in response before waggling his pointer finger at Mike. “He pulled  _ us _ from the Otherworld for a reason, Mikey. Everything that’s happened so far? I’m thinkin’ has been for a higher purpose. Me and Bev? Your family, even Bill and Eddie…” Richie steps up to him and taps his shoulder. “Something’s going on that we can’t even  _ begin _ to understand.”

And yet this was their fight now. Their responsibility owed unto the world. He closes his eyes, touches his chest where he can feel the flame grow in response.

“Don’t gotta understand it when we can just finish it.” He grins and Richie grins back, two monsters in their own right in that moment. “Now enough chit-chat, let’s go get those records.”

They finally find the right room and the clerk is more what Mike’s expecting. A sweet old thing with a jar of peppermints on her desk and glasses hanging around her neck. “Oh my, what has this storm brought me? Two young men.” Her voice warbles pleasantly. “I don’t get too many young one’s here in my office, especially now that summer’s begun.”

“See?” Richie says under his breath and Michael quickly elbows him before stepping forward.

“Doin’ some personal research for an internship, ma’am. I was hoping we came to the right place.”

“That depends.” She scootches out of her chair and comes around, back bent, steps slow. So much like his grandmother it hurts. He offers her his hand and she suprises him by taking it, gnarled hands holding on tightly. “Why thank you, sweetling. Smart and corteous. I don’t think we get much like that nowadays.”

Mike leans down towards her with a soft laugh. “I’m just putting in extra work for when that one says something he shouldn’t.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder at Richie, snorting when Richie scoffs in incredulity.

“The gentleman and the rascal, what a pair.” She puts her other hand over his, squeezing in a comforting way. “Now tell me what you’re looking for and we’ll see what we can find.”

The archives smell of dust and mystery, of books soaking in both the sun and the moon, steeping in their light and power. “We’ve got the census information over here, and on this side there’s all sorts of wonderful information concerning historical restorations.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head slowly. “Such a shame about Hanlon farm. They kept to themselves, but they were a steady presence here in Derry.”

His flame gutters within him and he’s drawing in the most subtle breath he can to quell the fire. Richie touches his back, smooths his hand over his shoulder blade until he’s squeezing his shoulder in a comforting way. “We can make copies of some maps, if you’d like?” She inquires.

“Perfect.” He had mentioned to Bill and Richie that drawing up ley lines with Ben had been one of his plans. Finding the convergence and laying down spell work there would help himself and the witch be at full power, especially once the solstice came. The longest day of the year, the sun chasing away the dark, he would be unstoppable. “I was thinking maybe too, if possible…” He cheeks flush under his dark skin. “You mentioned the Hanlon’s…”

“Why yes, dear.”

“Is there any kind of correspondence in your collection?”

She turns to him, peering up at him owlishly behind her comically large glasses. They’re near replicas of Richie’s, now that he thinks of it. “...I’ll see what I can find. How does that sound?” Once again her hands find his and they clasp tight. “There’s no harm in checking.”

“I appreciate it.” He blinks away the tears that threaten to come up and spill over. Anything. He’ll take anything at this point. A reminder of what he had lost, of what he was fighting for…

She sends them to wait out by her desk. Richie pops about five mints into his mouth as he falls back into a chair, causing them to click as he swirls them around in his mouth. Mike stares at the boy and clasps his hands under his chin.

“Getting ready for tonight?” He says casually.

“Huh?!” Richie grunts by means of response. His arms are thrown over the back of all three chairs preoccupying their side of the room, one leg folded over the other, the king of this strange domain in that moment.

Mike’s next words are a purposeful guillotine. He grins and pats Richie’s squirrel cheeks. “For Eddie, of course.” He hums sweetly.

It’s revenge from earlier, all the little jabs about him and Bill. It takes less than a second for the words to register and once they do Mike only regrets two things in that moment. 

The first being how close he’s sitting next to the werewolf.

The second being that he decided to face Richie when he spoke to him.

This is because Richie reacts so violently that he manages to spew not just one spit slick mint onto Mike’s face, but two.

For a moment they stare at each other, the other three mints spilling out of Richie’s mouth as he continues to gape at Mike. Mike reaches up, pinching his fingers around one of the mints, pulling until something gives. “...Dude…” He says in final judgement.

“Dude!?” Richie screeches back. “You! Y-you! You just… you!” He throws finger after finger down, windmilling his arms frantically. Mike just watches, now pulling at the second mint, unimpressed, smirking just so to himself. “You!”

“Oh my.” Richie’s head whips to the side so hard Mike’s surprised he doesn’t just break the damn thing. “I see what you meant earlier.” She gives a pleased chuckle when Richie groans in defeat, slumping back down on his chair. “Oh, what I would do to have energy like that again. Here you go. Everything I could find and then some.” Mike scoops everything up from her arms. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but save the bottom of the pile for later, dear.”

He lights up and it takes everything in him to make sure the glow doesn’t appear upon his skin either. “Thank you, thank you so much. You’ve been such a big help.” He dips his head and suddenly realizes he doesn’t know her name. “...Miss…?”

“Kersh.” She supplies. “Miss Kersh, if you need me once more.”

Something in that name resonants with him but he can’t place it. It’s like earlier in the park, the rightness of saying “beep beep” to Richie in order to censor him. This though, this felt like a mirror, the reflection opposite. It should be different, something in him insists, she shouldn’t be this kindly, shouldn’t be this willing to their cause.

_ Trap _ , his mind supplies.

_ No _ , his heart counters, the flame rising higher and higher. It could sense the bad in things and people and with Miss Kersh and the Losers it was content, burning bright and steady, with the demon and those boys from earlier it leapt and raged.  _ Safe _ , it settled once more as Mike looked into her kindly eyes,  _ she’s safe. _

“Thank you, Miss Kersh.” He whispers as he pulls away. He leans down to scoop up the mints, depositing them in the trash can, wrapping an arm around Richie’s shoulders as he pulls the still stunned male along. “I’ll call if I have questions.”

“I hope it makes a world of a difference!” She calls after them. “Good luck boys.”

They step out and the world is lit in gold, leaves dripping leftover raindrops upon their heads. “Hey.” Mike starts. “I do apologize if I overstepped earlier.”

He and Richie are at eye level. They’re about the same height, Mike realizes, the only difference between them how Richie’s lean and lithe with hidden muscle running under his freckled skin versus his own farmhand muscles. Richie’s mouth works and although it’s only been a day, Mike can’t help but think about how odd it seems when the other boy is at a loss for words. Richie was made for talking, for shooting the shit, for making a statement. This quiet and astounded version of him wasn’t right at all. 

“...Sometimes I think Eddie hates me.” He finally says. “I think everyone hates me just a little bit, honestly.”

“Oh Rich.” Mike shakes his head, remembering the way Eddie had covered Richie with the blanket earlier, but Richie shakes his faster. “Don’t…”

“Give it time.” He manages miserably. “Hell, you saw Bill earlier. It’ll be a matter of time before I screw up with you too, but who am I if I’m not this, Mike?” 

Richie’s hair is infinitely curlier now, the drying rain making a real mess of it. His jeans are stiff looking too, and he can see the way the other boy’s heart works under his still damp shirt. Mike shifts the papers in his arms, sighs softly.

“A leader.” He starts. “And a friend. And a guy who apparently cares a lot about what other people think about him, enough to take a step back and call himself out on it. That takes a lot, Richie.” And it did. It was easy enough to ignore your faults. People did it all the time, going on without ever addressing the very thing that held them back. “You’re not just the comic relief. You’re genuinely funny and full of heart, so stop overthinking it.” He pushes Richie’s shoulder. “And maybe get a few more mints, cos boy, I can smell your breath from here.”  
Richie’s face cracks in the most beautiful way, lips pulling at the corners until there’s enough room for a howling laugh to climb out of him. “God damn, you’re a savage, Hanlon!” 

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line when Bev’s not here.” He reaches up and tossles Richie’s curls. “Now, can we please go home, because I am starving.” 

“Oh dude, you don’t have to ask twice. Let’s bounce.”

For just a little bit, things feel good.

Normal, almost.

Then they turn the corner onto Ben’s street and Richie goes as stiff as a board.

“Ben.” The witch’s name gasps out of him and he takes off, as quick as lightning. Mike follows after, careful to clutch at the copies Miss Kersh made for them. Now what? Now what, now what, now what? He doesn’t smell fire and ash on the air, doesn’t smell death, but something is wrong. 

He comes upon a tragedy in the kitchen.

Bev’s curled up in Richie’s arms, keening low as she shudders and shakes against him. “Took him.” He hears her say, over and over again. “She took him, Chee. He’s gone and they’re going to kill him.”

“Bev…” He starts and she rears her head, eyes black as pitch, lips pulling back to show fangs. “MARSH.” 

Mike startles into action, catching her around the stomach, his other arm coming up around her throat, catching her in the most careful chokehold he can manage while still holding her captive. She snarls and her spine jack knives in a terrifying way as she begins to claw at the air and scream, thrashing about. “Already?!” Mike shouts above it. It’s been a day. She can’t already be starved, can she?

“No, she’s just… Christ she’s upset. Give her time.” Richie adjusts his glasses before falling back onto the floor with a groan. “Holy shit.” He whispers, audible only between Bev’s awful screams. Mike doesn’t loosen his hold, staying there until she finally loosens and goes limp in his arms. “Don’t let go.”

“I’m not an idiot.” He reminds Richie gently. He waits until Bev’s eyes roll up to his, as green as gemstones. “Howdy there, Miss Marsh.”

“Mike.” She whispers his name weakly. “...Oh, I wish you hadn’t had to see that…” Her voice is absolutely wrecked, poor thing. She’s got her own flaming curls and he pets his fingers through them in a comforting way, humming under his breath. She slumps against him, tears spilling out from under her lashes. 

“You mind tellin’ us what happened?” He continues to comb through her hair, blunt nails scratching along her scalp. “What’s got you all worried now?” Not that he was going to even attempt comparing Beverly Marsh to livestock, but it was a lot like calming down cattle. Soft and calming tones, not pushing into the flight zone. Your energy was theirs. Acting up would just get Bev confused again, so the gentle approach it was. 

“Bill… he… he must have momentarily broken the seal when he banished that son of a bitch.” Her irises go wide and Mike tightens his hold just enough to remind her of what had happened earlier. She closes her eyes, sucks in a shaking breath through her nose before exhaling it through her mouth. “This bitch… Greta… she shows up and starts just spewing law and jargon at Ben and then she… she…” She brings her hands up to her face, a low sound of agony.

“Took Ben.” 

Eddie.

Eddie looks like the kind of ghost you saw in the movies, half imposed onto this world in a hazy, faded kind of way, framed by the open doorway. He enters the room soundlessly and kneels before Bev. Mike can feel his cold from here. Most ghosts were cold because of their bones, his daddy had told him. Buried deep, the Earth’s cold would seep into them until they were frozen solid. “I heard it all. Bev, I’m sorry, I…”

“There’s nothing any of us could have done, Eddie.” She offers him a weak, watery smile. “Not a damn thing.”

The sun ticks further down in the sky and Mike quells with it, whereas in response, Eddie becomes more solid layer by layer until there’s not a doubt that he was never not just this. Real, real, real. He’s touching Bev’s kneecap and gripping it when he realizes he finally can, tears slipping down his face. 

Mike’s not sure how exactly it happens but suddenly Richie’s there too and he finds himself swaddled up between all of them. Bev’s a dove, done up in white and with hollow bones, a fine shaking taking up residence along her spine. Richie’s got his face tucked against Mike’s shoulder and the phoenix can feel the awkward press-stab of the werewolf’s glasses against his skin. And Eddie, Eddie’s so small that he can tuck himself into Beverly all too perfectly, his fingers clasping at Richie’s forearm like it’s a god damn life line. “Is it strange…” Mike starts in a careful voice. “To say ‘this is where I belong?’”

They’re all quiet. The house is quiet around them. It’s nothing without Ben, just walls and floors, but it’s protecting them all the same. “I don’t think so.” Eddie finally says. “I felt… I felt the same way after I finally settled. My first real rational thoughts weren’t ‘Oh God, I’m alive’, for better or for worse, they were…” He swallows, throat working, adam’s apple bobbing with it. “They were ‘where have these people been all my life?’”

“Aww, Edds…” Richie murmurs.

“Don’t ruin it, Tozier.” Eddie tries to glare but it’s all kinds of half hearted, something Mike knows Richie delights in.

“It felt the same with Bill too. He just came into our lives at the park with George and it clicked, like… like…” Bev’s brow creases and she makes a face. “God, what word am I looking for.”

“Magic.” Mike supplies and they all go wide eyed.

“Told you.” Richie whispers. “I told Mike something bigger is going on, bigger than all of us. This isn’t just some crazy coincidence, this is universe trying to tell us something, trying to get us to  _ do _ something.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, resting a hand on Mike’s shoulder, leaning over him. “...What’s that look for, Eddie?”

When Mike looks at Eddie he finds the other boy to be wide eyed and terrified, but behind that there’s a resolve of sorts. “I found something.” He breathes and they all lean forward, Bev most of all. “Something none of you are gonna believe.”

-

 

One-two-three-four-click.

Her fingers come down one by one on the table, nails just long enough to make an impression. She’s in Tom Rogan’s cramped office, waiting on paperwork to fill out for the incident. She doesn’t like that Tom Rogan has his hands all over her car, all too close to finding the secret compartments it hides. They had their own repairmen and mechanics in the hunting community, people who would take care of the rest, but this awkward step between them was one Audra didn’t enjoy one bit.

Kay was already out scouting, at least, she was for a place to stay and a place to eat. She hadn’t wanted to go, throwing Tom a quick look before looking back at her, but Audra wanted her here even less. She had seen the way he had eyed them, something awful and dark in those black eyes of his.

One-two-three-four-click.

She glances around the room. There’s a computer that looks like it belongs in the 90s on his desk and a mess of invoices and other assorted paperwork, and under that she swears she can spy a Playboy. “Classy.” She rolls her eyes before continuing her personal I Spy game. Radio, dial notched to a local AM station known for right wing bullshit, auto-mechanic books that looked like they had years worth of dust on them. Her own chair has leather so cracked the foam underneath has made itself known twice over. 

The door slams and she barely schools herself into the earlier casual Audra that she ought to be for situations like this. Tom grunts as he drops into his creaking chair, not even bothering a greeting of sorts. Men, she thinks, lip curling some.

“Your insurance people said they’d be here in the next couple of days. We’ll basically keep your car impounded here.” Tom rubs a hand across his stubbled jaw. “You’ll have access, but it’s better than just leaving a dud in some poor fucker’s parking lot.”

“Sure.” She jolts her shoulders, eager to get out of here. Tom leans far, far back, his fingers folding under his mouth. Can I go? She’s this close to snapping the words at him, but she bites down on her tongue. She was just tired of people like him, men like him, the kind that acted like they knew just about everything because they had a little dirt under their nails, a few more years on them than she had. I’m just as good as you, smart as you, capable as you. Probably better than your sleazy ass too, Tom Rogan.

“So what’s bringing two ladies to Derry?”

One-two-three-four-click.

“Family, Tom.” She forces a tight smile, making her words quick.

“I don’t think I’ve seen either of you before.”

One-two-three-four-click.

“Did one of those neat blood tests, found out I have kin here, was hoping to get to know a different side of myself.”

“I see.”

His brow is furrowed, eyes bright and hard, like little chips in his overtanned face. He did not see, in fact, he seemed to think every word she was force feeding him was a load of crock.

One-two-three-!

Suddenly there’s a hand on her wrist.

Audra Phillips looks down slowly, as if taking her time to look will cause the sensation to lift. In reality, she’s giving Tom time to let go and not make a complete ass of himself. Instead, he gives a grunt. “That’s getting right annoying, ma’am.” He informs her.

“Get your damn hands off me.” She says back, reaching into her back pocket to produce a neat little tube of pepper spray. “Before I’m forced to make a real embarrassment of you,  _ sir _ .”

He doesn’t even startle at the sight, instead rolling his eyes. Her thumb brushes the trigger. Oh how she wishes she had an excuse to really hurt him with something more meaningful than this, but you can’t be killing civilians left and right, now could you? Even if they were deserving of it. “Are we done here?” She hisses out. He finally relents and wheels his chair back.

“I’ll let you go and grab your belongings and then I suggest you let your people take care of the rest. Don’t come back.” God, what an awful, nasty thing. She hopes the rest of the town isn’t like this. She’s tempted to grab her flask and nail him with some holy water, see what Tom Rogan was really made of, but she simply stands up and throws him a dirty look.

“Be seeing you around.” He says as she reaches the door. She gives pause, throws a look over her shoulder, making an obvious show of tucking the pepper spray away.

“I hope not.” She says despite knowing better, and slams the door on the way out.

The one good thing to come of waiting around in that son of a bitch’s office is that the rain is done and over with. A car cuts through the puddled water in the street, causing it to rise like wings around it. “Lordy Lord.” She murmurs to herself, collecting all of her hair into her hands, tieing it up off her neck and onto the top of her head. She grabs her cellphone then, dialing Kay’s number. It only rings once before she’s picking up.

“Hey baby.” Kay coos, an immediate salve upon Audra’s worked up nerves. She sighs back over the phone, tips her head back up to the darkening sky above. “Is someone hungry?” 

“Starving.” Audra admits. “And tired, and a lil pissed off.”

“Oh no.” Kay moans. “What did that bastard do?”

“I’ll tell you over dinner, speaking of, when and where do I meet you?”

“Howabout our king sized bed as soon as possible, with a spread of your favorite Chinese dishes?” Oh God, she’s already salivating. “I’ll help you get out of those clothes, we get all nice and relaxed.”

“Keep talking like that and all that food is gonna go to waste.” Audra tells her with a growing grin. Kay giggles back and just like that all her problems fade away. “I’ll be there soon, just text me the address.”

“I eagerly await.” Kay hums back. The line goes dead and for a moment Audra continues to stand there on the curb, letting her arms fall out to her side. Sure Derry might have a demon problem and a whole lot of other shit going on it it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make something out of this. It was summer, the nights were long, the world was infinite.

Someting piques her sixth sense and turns and sees Tom Rogan’s profile lit in the door of his shop and every good feeling she had sours immediately.

“Shake it off, Phillips.” She tells herself, and takes off into the night on quick and eager feet.

-

 

Eddie was not used to having an audience.

Richie watches him shift around awkwardly, one foot the next. He has on a pair of shorts and windbreaker that trails over his fine fingers, bright primary colors that you can’t help but notice. He goes to his pocket once and then curses under his breath, shaking his head at himself.

No aspirator, Edds, you’re on your own.

He’s tempted to go up there with him and help ease the smaller boy’s nerves but he has no idea what the ghost is about to lay on them. He shakes his head again and scurries off without a sound and they can only glance at each other in confusion before Marsh is finally the one to break the silence.

“Wanna take bets?”

She’s made up of all kinds of black humor now without Ben, her voice low and rough as she plays with a cigarette absently. Richie meets her eyes across the room and quirks dark brows at her, a gesture which she returns in a slow and calm way, at complete odds with the monster she let take over minutes before.

“What? Like we’re up against Satan himself? Always took him for a more subtle son of a bitch, if we’re being honest.” Mike says and Richie really can’t help but snort loudly. “What? Momma made sure we were well read on all subjects. Besides, I’ve always been partial to the Inferno, and Lucifer was as cold as ice. This fucker?” Mike clucks his tongue. “Runs hot.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Bev tips forward, folding her hands over each other. “Fire’s one of those things we keep coming back to.”

“How symbolic.” Richie takes off his glasses and begins to clean them on the bottom of his shirt with an irritable sigh. “I swear, I hate this shit sometimes. What I would give for a normal life.” Something where they were all just 20 somethings who’s hardest task in life was paying rent and finding a decent job. 

“It’s never going to be that easy, Richie.”

He yelps as Eddie bonks the top of his head with a too-heavy book. “Watch the hair man!” Richie scrambles his hands around his head, attempting to shoo Eddie off. The other boy snorts and just hits him again. “Dude!”

“I know for a fact that you just roll out of bed, you bastard.” Eddie informs him and Richie spins in his seat, squinting at him.

He grins like the wolf he is, hit by sudden inspiration.

“Eddie, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone about our nightly escapades!” He doesn’t have to have his glasses on to see how the other boy flushes, pretty and pink. He peeks over his shoulder then, grinning at the stationary blobs that are Mike and Beverly. “See, he won’t admit it, but he’s a cuddler.”

“RICHARD.” Eddie shrills.

“And, as I’m sure you can now safely assume, extremely loud.”

Eddie shrieks like a banshee and begins to bring the book down upon him furiously. Richie brings his hands up, laughing as loud as can be in response. “I’m joking! I’m joking! Stop!”  
“I hate you! I hate you so much! You! Are! So! Gross!!!” Each word is emphasized by the book hitting a new spot on him. His shoulders, his back, the top of his head again. “Eugh!!!”

“Boys, please.” Beverly groans. “Please! Can we get back on topic.”

Richie finally ducks away and falls to the floor, rolling away to safety before hitting Mike’s knees. “Hide me!” He pleads blindly.

“Hell no.” Mike says with a sideways snort.

Richie fakes a sob, curling into a fetal position. “Fuck, so much for friends. You’re all the worst.”

Eddie stomps past him and throws his glasses at him before taking his original place at the front of the room. “I… found… this.” He pages through the book until he finds what he’s looking for. Richie sits up, shoving his glasses up onto his beakish nose, narrowing his eyes until he makes sense of the image.

“Oh, what the fuck is that?” He says in disgust. 

“It’s… you know.” Eddie casts a nervous look around the room before stepping towards them, the book trembling just so in his hold. “I-I wasn’t even trying to find it, I just…” He swallows thickly, clutching the book to his heaving chest.

“Eddie.” Bev calls from the couch, looking alert.

“I… Something happened that shouldn’t have.” He whispers and now Richie’s perking up too, worry threading through his earlier humors. He stands up and holds his hand out for the book. For a moment it’s just them, Bev and Mike suddenly up and disappearing from the room, from this existence.

He touches his fingers against the cold inside of Eddie’s wrist, still surprised by the lack of pulse there. Eddie’s breath stutters and he leans down oh so carefully, unlatching each of his fingers until the book is falling into his hands. “Easy.” Richie says in a comforting voice.

Eddie looks up, oh so pale against the yellow and blue and red of his oversized windbreaker. He can still taste the mint in the back of his mouth, coating his throat and tongue. He forces himself to speak. “What happened?”

“I… I fell inside the book.”

“You  _ what _ ?” Mike speaks himself into existence with disbelief and they’re back in Ben’s house, back in reality. Bev’s now sitting on the edge of her beat up chair, eyes wide.

“It was like a slip but… but  _ not _ . Not into the past, into the book. A-And I saw things, heard things... “ Eddie whispers. Richie paws the book open to that God awful picture of the spider again, pressing his fingers into the paper as hard as he can. “Richie.” Eddie hisses.

“I wanna see if it’s magic.” He insists, knowing if he presses any harder he’ll rip the paper. It stays stubbornly solid and his lip pulls back in frustration, a soft growl leaving him.

“Down boy.” Bev warns. Richie growls even louder, baring his fangs. 

“I’m allowed to get a lil’ worked up, Beverly.” He draws out her name before whipping his head back to Eddie. “What was it? What did you see?”

“Something,” he starts. There’s a sound at the door and they all turn to see The Cats there, their eyes glowing in the looming dark. “Spoke to me.” He whispers into the deathly quiet of the room.

“The demon?” Mike questions finally after a pregnant pause and Eddie shakes his head furiously in response. “Then what, Eddie?”

Eddie clenches his teeth, eyes wide and desperate. “I don’t know.” He chokes out. “It felt… primordial… omnipotent.” 

“God!?” Richie squawks and Eddie shoves at him. “Christ, sorry, just… what else could you be describing, Edds?!”

“The Universe.” Church says as she paws into the room. She stops dead center, bringing her paw up to her face to wash at it in a bored, cat like way, uncaring of their astounded faces. “‘ _ When the wind speaks and the flame catches, the quiet echo of lost wisdom will return _ .’ Don’t you children know anything?” She sighs.

They all turn to Mike and he holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me! I’m just as lost as you all are.” He crouches down next to the cat, pointing a finger at the barn cat. It’s supposed to be threatening, Richie supposes, but she just yawns and shows off her sharp little teeth in response. “Now Miss Church, what are you going on about?”

She eyes him steadily, so human in that moment. She’s made up of Ben’s magic and Eddie too. They’re all here in completeness, but what happened when the magic bled out of them? 

They had to get that figured out, fast.

“He knows.” Her eyes flick to Eddie finally. “Tell us, boy.”

“...I named It.” He whispers hoarsely and Richie’s heart beats faster, faster than it has any right to. Eddie’s ought to be racing as well, but it’s frozen, just like him… “World Weaver.” 

Eddie flickers in and out and Richie forgets how to breathe. Mike let’s loose an awful swear and Bev draws in a painfully sharp breath. 

“Don’t.” Church warns him when Richie moves to touch the other boy, anchor him back in. The wolf in him wants nothing more than to rip the damn cat apart but he keeps himself painfully still, watching, waiting.

Eddie flickers again and suddenly he’s pitching forward soundlessly. Richie catches him without a second thought and cradles him close, a worried noise slipping out of him. He can see Eddie’s eyes moving rapidly under his lids, lashes fanned out across his cheeks.

He begins to speak in a voice that’s not his own. 

“It was born in void and dark and nothing. It was made with the purpose of ridding the universe of its excess, but It became greedy. It became jealous. It wanted  _ more _ .”

_ (More, It said, and more, and more.) _

His eyes open and Richie cradles his pale cheeks ( _ ghostly pale, oh Lord _ ) “Eddie.” He breathes his name.

“I’m okay Rich.” Eddie reaches up and covers his hands with his, smiling weakly, his voice his own again. He smiles back, blinking back tears. “I’m here.” 

“Thank God for that.” Bev blows out a breath, causing her curls to lift with the exhale. “Jesus, Eddie, what in hell was that?”

Eddie looks to Church, face moving along Richie’s palms, he speaks against them, lips brushing the skin softly. Richie shudders with it, sighing weakly. “It’s changing, isn’t It?” Eddie asks in a scared voice.

“Everything is, my boy.” She smiles, all kinds of feline and curled, yellow full moon eyes flashing.  “ _ Everything _ .”

-

Uriel looks down at the human boy and sighs.

He’s been looking down at Bill Denbrough for years now and for the most part, it had been quiet and easy work. There had been bumps here and there, moments where Patrick Hocksetter and Henry Bowers lost themselves to their rage and hate, words and threats not enough, physical action the only way to let it out. 

This, however, had been unexpected.

The world was made up of strange and awful things but he had never expected them to come to Derry, Maine. It was one of the most unassuming places in all of creation and yet It had come here for a reason, a purpose of sorts. Leylines ran rampant, sure, and there were portals abound through the whole state, but Derry…

Derry had no right being this interesting.

He lifts him up and shifts Bill’s wet weight in his arms. He could find the room with his eyes closed, if he really wanted to, but instead Uriel keeps his eyes wide open as he treks down the hall.

“Bill.” He says the other’s name gently. He stirs but stays a million miles away in a near dreaming world. What do you see there, Bill Denbrough? What things wait for you in the dark?

He lays him upon the bed, not really caring that his skin is still wet. He could be dead, the angel thinks, if not for the way his chest moved up and down in a deep, unbothered way and how his divine purpose still rings true.

Protect this boy, for he is yours and you are his.

 

Uriel sat on the edge of the bed, gathering his wings up about him. Three times now he had made himself known to the human, twice he had saved his life and once he altered it completely.

“You’re welcome.” He tells Bill. “It’s not often most humans get to meet their guardian angel.” He sighs then and lays down next to Bill, turning his body towards him, watching, always watching. He ought to up and disappear into the night, but something insists that he stays. “Open your eyes.” He tells Bill.

They stay stubbornly closed.

He can hear the front door unlock, Zack Denbrough’s heavy footsteps miles ahead of Sharon’s own dragging feet. He saw both of them in Bill, as much as he would insist he was nothing like them. He had his mother’s bleeding heart, his father’s iron will and rage…

But then he had made them his own, too.

Uriel sits up and tucks Bill in, brushing his auburn hair back from his face with careful fingers. He has dark circles under his eyes, Uriel notes, and his bottom lip has been torn apart by worry. “Until next time.” It wouldn’t be long, would it? His grace sings with the knowledge, eager to make it’s way back to Bill again despite having not even left yet. “Something in me tells me it will be sooner rather than later.” He smirks and disappears with a flap of his wings, not noticing the way one errant feather flies and spirals away from him, right on top of the pillow next to Bill’s slumbering face.

Sooner rather than later, indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil bit of a filler but it's all good shit in there for sure. thank you for reading <3

The Witch’s Coven of North America was in the last place you would expect it.

Right underfoot the CN Tower in Toronto, deep, deep underground.

It hadn’t been planned. They had been there first, aeons ago, taking to the power that pulsed along the leyline and working alongside the Cree and the Ojibwe and Iroquois tribes too once they found their homes there, all spanning across the greatness that was Ontario on onwards into that great Canadian wilderness. Magic was abundant here,  a seemingly endless well upon which all witch kind could draw upon to fuel their strongest magic.

Ben sighs to himself and looks up from the burning candles that surround him. Four points and then four more, a compass rose of spellwork and binding.

All made to keep him in. A prisoner of his own making, he supposes.

“There’s really no need for this.” He sighs up to the arched ceiling. It was cathedral like, made of an ungodly black stone. There was a low collective thrum that pulsed through the walls, crawling up the length of Ben’s spine. He touched the floor, the same material, and felt the magic, the second slow beat it issued.

“You know what this is, right?”

Greta’s at the threshold of the circle, glaring down her long nose at him. Ben raps his knuckles along the floor, managing a small smile that he knows she’ll hate. “Witch heart.” He answers in confidence.

That’s what happened when they died, their hearts went and turned to stone. Either they were buried deep in the ground, causing great things to sprout up around them, the magic seeping out into the land, or they were pledged to the Unending Cause. A process in which they were melted down and hammered into charms and barriers to protect their kind. That’s what the covens were made of, witch heart stone and magic weaved together by the mother, the maiden, and the crone.

“So you do know _some_ things.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, lip pulling back over her perfect white teeth. Greta Bowie Keene was one of the most learned and talented witches in North America. She had already been voted in as the honorary stand in if anything were to happen to the Maiden, one of the youngest yet. “Color me impressed.”

She sounded anything but.

“Greta.” Ben shifts in the small space until he’s kneeling before her. She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him, blowing a ringlet up and off her forehead before putting her hands on her hips.

“Yes?” She leans down and the candles gutter with it as she crosses into the threshold into her own spelling. One way access, he knows, having tried to rip it apart in order to escape.

“All these protection spells are completely unnecessary.” He bites back a hiss of pain when he involuntarily digs his fingers into the stone, feeling it catch under his nails. He hears the coven beat again, eerily like that foghorn call from the Ironworks the night before. “I’ve heard you all call me the mule before. I’m not going to break out of this-”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Greta stays standing, staring down at him with icy eyes. “You brought that thing into this world.” His own heart stutters and he feels a wash of shame and nerves spill down his back, leaving a cold sweat in its wake. “Named it, gave it purpose.” Something flashes in those eyes of hers and Ben can’t place it. She spins on her heel and stomps out of the circle, casting another unreadable look his way. “You’ll stay here, Mr. Hanscom.” She shakes her head. “...You’ll stay here.”

It isn’t until much later when he’s delirious from lack of sleep and food, when he’s finally slipping into the gracious embrace of unconsciousness, that he places the look Greta had shot him before.

Fear.

It had been fear.

-

 

Bill jolts awake sometime around 1 AM.

He hates the feeling of not knowing where he is, the room too dark to make sense of anything, his body having finally settled back into itself after all those hours of floating in another pitch darkness. The pillow beneath his head is damp, his boxers are stiff feeling, like when you leave clothes out to air dry.

He reaches out and slaps his hand around until he finds his lamp, fingers twisting at the switch until his room floods with light. For a moment he stays propped up on one elbow, squinting against the brightness, trying to find his place again in the universe. He ought to get up, check on George, make sure he hasn’t been staying up because of his nightmares…

No.

Georgie isn’t here.

Gone, he was gone, he had been gone now for far too long.

A whole day missing and what did Bill have to show for it? Guilt makes it hard to breathe and he falls back onto his back, staring up at his ceiling as he tries to reign himself in. It’s still late, everyone should still be up at Ben’s house. At the very least he can depend on Eddie and maybe they can figure something out.

He sits up, pushing at the sheets and blankets covering him. He doesn’t even remember falling into bed, much less pulling the covers up and around him like this. How out of it was he after visiting the Kendeskaug? He feels like he’s left something behind, something important.

Something pricks his finger and he pulls back, hissing. “T-th-the fuck?” More often than not he had woken up with pens and pencils in his bed, his face pressed against his notebook with the the light on in both his dorm and his bedroom as well. Stories demanded to be written at times, no matter the hour…

His fingers brush against it, whatever it is, and Bill’s brows jump with surprise. “The f-fuh-fuck.” He repeats, confusion growing by the moment.

It’s a feather.

It’s gilt and white and as long as his index finger, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Maybe he’s still dreaming, but maybe this was the kind of world he lived in now, one of mystery and magic.

He picks it up and it all slams back into him.

The mirror image of himself (yellow eyed, he remembers now, how had he not seen that before?) Then the sensation of falling, the pain of coming in contact with the bath, the too hot water going up his nose, into his mouth, filling him up.

The angel.

 _His_ angel.

This time he actually manages to put on some real clothes, trading out his boxers for a new pair, black jeans, a plain white tee with a cardigan over it all. He wasn’t suited for summer weather. He lived for those frosty mornings on Dartmouth’s front lawn, for leaves crunching underfoot and clouded breath. There wasn’t time to change, to put more thought into his outfit, only enough to pull on a ratty pair of tennies before he escaped into the night.

His parents were going to kill him if they found him gone. Two Denbroughs up and disappeared into the night, but he can’t help it. He has amends to make, a mystery to solve, only six days to make something happen before that god damned demon showed up again to make their life a living hell.

It’s days like this where he could really use a bike. Quicksilver and savage, it comes to the forefront of his mind, but he shakes it away. There was no time for his runaway imagination to paint up something like this. Reality, Bill, focus on the real things.

Like vampires and phoenixes and angels...

Some time later, measured only in lengths of concrete conquered and in panted breaths, Bill finds himself stumbling onto the front porch of Ben’s house. He presses his palm to the door, sucking in a desperate breath, before he chokes out a “puh-pu...pluh...pl...fuck, p-please…” to it.

It stays closed.

He curls his fingers against the it, feeling frustrated tears spring to his eyes. Don’t lock me out, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was scared.

I’m so fucking scared.

He mouths the words against the wood grain, squeezing his eyes shut as he does, the tears leaking out of him. He can’t speak, he can’t breathe, he can’t think…

“Oh Lord, are you dying? I think he’s dying.” Richie’s horrified voice says overhead. Bill glances up, sees the werewolf peeking out the window at him.

“Rich.” He gasps out.

Richie pulls a despairing face, lips turning down, eyes going wide with a mix of horror and pity.

Bill limply hooks a finger over his shoulder, huffing and puffing the whole time. “R-ruh-r…” He hangs his head before pantomiming a flailing sprint.

“Ran!?” Richie howls back after a moment of confusion, leaning further out, looking moments away from falling out.

He points at Richie and nods. Yeah, that one.

“From your house!?”

Another frantic nod.

“GEE-ZUS CHRIST! HOL-EE SHIT!” Richie screams as he teeters back, coming back into view like a god damn demented rocking horse. “Denbrough! First the deal with the demon, now this? I think you have a death wish. Hold the fuck on.”

He slumps against the door frame after Richie disappears from view, pushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead as he waits. So much for that earlier bath, even if it had been accidental... The door swings inwards and suddenly Eddie’s gaping down at him.

“Now you’re the one who needs an inhaler!” He jokes before grimacing. “Sorry, that was bad. I just thought Richie was being Richie, making a big deal out of nothing, but you really are down here dying!” Eddie’s picking him up then, which should be impossible because he’s so damn tiny, but he makes it work somehow. “You remember the middle school mile?”

The laughter wheezes out of him. “Y-yuh-yeah…” Finally his words are making their way back to him, still all kinds of stilted and odd. “G-God.”

-

_They had been eleven, or maybe twelve, that odd spanning age that you found yourself in when you were in the sixth grade. It was the Presidential Fitness test and no one was giving a shit. It used to be fun to prove your friends wrong, to be awarded with the dinky little certificates and medals to show off to your mom and dad but now they were practically teenagers and they had better things to do than run around in laps and do too many push ups._

_Eddie’s mother had done something she had never done that day. She had forgotten that it was that time of year and that these things were happening. She would blame it on stress, on her little boy hitting his puberty, hell she would even say it was simply what her horoscope had predicted that day but no matter what excuse she gave it was this simple._

_She had forgotten to get Eddie a doctor’s note._

_His gym teacher had stared at him and he had stared back, the very picture of David and Goliath, Bill awkwardly standing at Eddie’s side like some strange extra. They were paired together as the always seemed to be though, always the odd ones out in their class. “This is great!.” Their teacher had smiled and it hadn’t been nice, not nice at all, Bill couldn’t help but think. “You’re gonna finally experience this greatness, Kaspbrak.”_

_“But my mom.” Eddie had shoved his aspirator into his mouth, pressing down on the trigger harder than necessary. Bill’s eyes flitted to Eddie, taking in his fair skin and perfectly made up hair, the way he tucked his aspirator away with quick and nimble fingers. “She said I can’t overextend myself due to my weak heart condition.” Bill’s mom said that Eddie Kapsbrak was growing up too fast, that he was a fifty year old in a ten year olds body, and Bill could finally see it for the first time. Those were big words, as big as the words he read in all those historical fiction books his father owned. “My doctor said so too.”_

_“Well, they haven’t gone and gotten you an excuse, Mr. Kaspbrak, and we’ve got to be fair to everyone else, isn’t that right Bill?”_

_He hadn’t liked that their gym teacher had drawn a line of distinction between them with the use of his first name and Eddie’s last, like they were from two different planets. Bill swallowed against the knot in his throat, stared down at his tennis shoes, pulled at the bottom of his gym shirt nervously._

_“B-Buh-Bu-Buh…” He could feel Eddie staring at him, desperate. Their teacher in growing glee. “Ed...Ed-ded-Eddie…” Say it. Just say it Bill! Fuck!_

_Too late. “It’s okay, Bill.” The teacher said in a patronizing way. It dawned on Bill then, he wasn’t treating them like they were from different planets. His teacher was treating Bill like his co-conspirator. The realization caused something sour to bloom in the back of his mouth, especially when Eddie continued to stare at him in this growing hopeful way, like he would up and lose that stutter that he’s had for eleven-twelve years and tell their teacher to fuck off. He only could stand there though with flaring cheeks, tongue useless, mouth flapping, tears welling._

_“It’ll build some character.” His teacher smiled like the Grinch, curled and dreadful, clapping a hand down on his shoulder three slow times before ambling off._

_He refused to look at Eddie, his apology refusing to make itself known, before he jogged off to the starting line. Eddie joined him minutes later, staring straight forward, a small trembling through his small body the only indication of his growing fear. Everyone around them stared forward as bored as could be._

_Eddie leaned forward, like one of those runners you saw on the Olympics. Fingers splayed, tips touching the concrete, a low breath pushing out of him as solid and steady as can be. Bill looked at him, looked at their smug teacher who watched Eddie Kaspbrak like he was some kind of animal on display._

_He leaned down next to him, bowing his back, taking to it so naturally._

_They both flew the moment the older man shouted “GO!”_

_Eddie had broken a record that day. Bill had been certain that his feet hadn’t touched the ground once the entire time from start to finish. They had stared at each other at the finish line, a quiet solidarity passing between them as they smiled at one another, sweat dripping of their brows and down their backs._

_“Thank you.” Eddie had whispered before promptly collapsing and blacking out._

_Sonya Kaspbrak had nearly sued the school that day and the weeks that followed the incident. She managed to get the teacher fired and banned from any school within Derry’s limits. It had been the talk of the town for months, flying Eddie Kaspbrak and his crazy bitch of a mother. He hadn’t come back to school for nearly a month, apparently in bed rest because of the overexertion._

_The first day back Bill had found a note wrapped around a Snickers bar, thanking him again, and in the corner two X’s separated by O’s._

_His heart had fluttered strangely upon seeing it, like it did when the prettiest girls in the class made eye contact with him for more than just a passing second. He had tucked the note away into the pocket on his shirt and saved the Snickers for lunch._

_It had been one of the best damn Snickers he had had in his damn life._

-

 

Eddie breaks out into the most beautiful smile in the world and Bill realizes that maybe in another life (another world, running parallel to this one) that he could very easily love this boy made up of contradictions. Simultaneously shy but raging, soft but rough, quiet but demanding to be heard.

It widens infinitesimally more, near impossible to make out, but Bill sees it happen the moment Richie rounds the corner. He’s bearing down on them like some kind of crazy mother hen, a water bottle in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Eddie smothers it, quick as can be, but the fact remains that if Bill were to write this scene out he would write it beautifully, tragically, and end it with the most straightforward statement he could manage.

Eddie Kaspbrak was undeniably, painfully in love with Richie Tozier.

“What’re you, my mother with this shit?” Eddie plucks the bottle from Richie’s grasp and unscrews the cap in one quick motion, placing it into Bill’s hand. Bill drinks from it greedily, nearly emptying the bottle in one go, causing Eddie to snort in an impressed way.

“See, he needed it Edds!” Richie’s pressing the cloth to his forehead and Bill’s shoving him away, a breathless laugh bubbling out of him. “He’s dying, man! I’m just trying to help. Stop moving, Billy! Help me help you!”

“Ruh-Ruh-Rich!” He laughs even harder. How easy it was to forget the earlier monster that Richie had been so eager to let out, so much like Patrick and Henry, awful on purpose. They’re all just twenty somethings in this moment, fucking around late at night. “E-yi-yim sorry.”

They all pause at the sudden statement, Eddie’s laughter filtering off awkwardly. Richie looks at him for a full moment before he slaps him gently (carefully, almost) in the face with the towel.

“Richie!” Eddie yelps on Bill’s behalf. The wet cloth clings to Bill’s face, strangely cool. “What the fuck?”

“ _Why_ the fuck is Bill apologizing when I went and fucked up? That’s the real question! You fuckin’ idiot.” Richie slaps him again and then once more. “Stop. Being. So. Fuckin. Nice!”

Bill hits him with the bottle and then it really starts, a full out war that has Eddie skittering between the two of them, cackling wildly. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house!” Eddie hisses. “Stop it!” Still, he slaps his hands down on Bill and Richie, pushing and shoving and giggling until he’s breathless from it.

This. This is what friendship was. He hadn’t had it for years and years, really only Georgie to depend on and his mom and his dad. Bill had been fine with being the odd one out, having stories to keep him company instead, but his heart soared at this, took to it so naturally and eagerly.

He never knew how desperate he was for it until now.

They tussle their way into the family room and Bill almost manages to trip and fall on his face. He looks back, head cocking at the culprit, finding a large book on the floor.

A spider stares back.

Reality snaps back in. The feather, the reason he’s here. Bill looks up, feeling the scar pulse on his palm, and finds Richie and Eddie staring back at him with suddenly fearful eyes.

“Wuh-we n-nuh-need to have a t-tuh-talk, duh-don’t we?”

 

-

That night, she hunts.

She leaves a note on Ben’s door. They all saw her slip into it earlier on, her head hung low, too many thoughts making a mess of her mind. World Weavers and witches and Ben, a hundred thousand million miles away from her, somewhere she couldn’t be, somewhere she couldn’t even begin to find.

She hunts in the dress because it’s all she has until she goes back to her apartment and she can’t bear to be alone inside of it right now. And maybe she can find strange comfort in it, the idea Ben had his hands on it, bunching it up and smoothing it down only hours before. His dress as much as it was hers at this point.

At some point she can taste blood filling her mouth and she finds her hands around the broken neck of a fawn, her teeth inches deep into it’s throat. She gulps at it, feeling hot tears of shame spill over as she bleeds the life out of the poor thing. Bev lets it drop, collapsing to her knees next to the dead animal, gulping in breath after desperate breath.

She hates being this. A helpless monster spiraling out of control, faster and faster, all too close to burning out. She had felt it too, the call of the fire when they had casted the spell to find Mike, the promise of release it held. _We can take you, Beverly. Wash it away. Fire can cleanse too, it can cleanse too..._

A twig breaks and she’s up in a flash, too fast for the human eye, hyped up on fresh blood and adrenaline. She sees her then, another woman (not not another, you’re more than her, you’re dhampir, Beverly. That’s her father’s voice in her ear, in her mind, deep in her heart, taking root, shaping her, molding her…)

Fuck.

She bares her fangs and presses low to the ground. She must look like a wraith out in the middle of the woods, blood spilled down the front of her dress, mouth smeared with it, eyes as pitch as night. Run away, she wills them, and don’t look back.

“Vampire.” A female voice whispers and the night lights up with it.

Bev hisses and skitters back away from that piercing light. It chases after her and all too suddenly something is knocking into her and they’re tumbling through the high grasses of Derry. Something catches the light and she can’t react fast enough before there’s fire spreading up her side, causing her to scream into the night sky.

A red wood stake, aged and soaked in centuries of sunlight, piercing through her flesh. She pushes at her attacker frantically, snapping her teeth at them like a pinned animal. Thank God she’s not pure blooded or it would have burned through her veins, killing her in an instant. She takes advantage of the surprise, flipping the other over, her fist finding its home in the soft of their stomach before Bev finally presses her hands to their neck, squeezing as tight as she can.

“AUDRA!” A voice shrieks into the dark. Beverly’s head jerks with it, grip slipping, and the woman twists out of her hold. They stare at each other and terror makes itself known as she recognizes what the woman is, bristling with knives and silver, a tangible violence.

Hunter.

They were the monsters of the Other World, the thing that parents told them to watch out for and fear, a threat that couldn’t even be prepared for, endless like Legion. Humans, after all, were always there.

Always would be.

They both move, flying at one another. Both fighting for the life in a desperate flurry. Bev sees the stake come at her and she twists out of the way, feeling it slice down her arm, spilling out all the blood she had just filled herself with. “Bitch.” She growls, letting her hatred for Greta rise up, her fear for Ben take over.

You’re dhampir, you’re dhampir, you’re dhampir.

More than them.

More than this.

( _More_.)

“Why won’t you just die?” The other woman seethes back, hair falling over her face. The near full moon shines down on the crown of her head, flashes in her eyes, gives away the way she feints to the left to fake Bev out.

Bev grins, knife like. “It’s gonna take more than that!” She jumps at her only to find herself being tackled from the side to the ground. This one’s more awkward, her punches missing, her breathe shuddering out of her. Bev gets a good grip on her wrist and pins her, baring her teeth, finally getting a good look at both of her attackers as the clouds part.

Something inside of her jolts, causes her to give pause as she really sees who they are.

“Kay.” The name comes from somewhere it shouldn’t, a memory that isn’t hers, from deep within. It was like the words Ben spoke to her that night during the spell, the way she took to all her new friends…

“...Bev…” It’s a question without the actual question mark attached. They stare at each other, summer swelling around them, bugs humming and chirping as their breathing settles, becoming steady again. “What…?”

Audra yanks her back and Bev rolls away. Her poor dress, she can’t help but think absently, bloodied and scuffed up with mud and dirt. Her one shared memory of her and Ben and something together ( _not separate_ ) sullied now. She stares at the two women and they stare back, mirroring the confusion in her glance.

_This is where I belong._

_These are the people I’ve been waiting for my entire life…_

_Like magic_ , her heart throbs again, _just like magic._

But before she can speak and break the spell they run.

 

-

Bill stares at them like they’ve gone insane.

Which is extremely fair given the story they’ve just told him.

Richie’s running on no sleep now for two days and he’s starting to see things in the corners of his eyes, but at least it’s not the demon. No, this is wolf eyes in the windows, shadows pacing outside, howls echoing in his ear. It’s a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and the call of the full moon.

Only two more days.

Two more fucking days.

“So, yeah, you know. No big deal.” He rolls his eyes before scratching at the back of his head. “Giant spider demon cluster fuck bastard man just decides to up and change all of reality to It’s liking, our witch went fucking AWOL, and we haven’t even heard your story yet Billy, so this is really turning out to be the best night ever, don’tcha think, Edds?”

Eddie’s head swings to him and he scratches faster, nails scraping along the flesh of his neck. It hurts, hurts like the burn, hurts like when Bill looked at him like some kind of monster (you are, the wolves outside remind him. You’re one of us, Richie.)

Everything hurts.

“Richie.” Eddie quietly warns before he pulls at Richie’s wrist. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

He bites back a laugh, physically pressing his canines into his tongue until the urge passes. “I’m just a lil on edge is all, that’s fair, right?” The werewolf gives an over exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“I d-d-don’t blame y-you.” Bill says with a worried look. “I-I’ve b-buh-been suh-suh-seeing things t-too…” He pales and clenches his fists in his lap. “B-buh-but sum-something huh-hu-happened to m-me…”

Oh God, now what? Eddie’s still got his hand on his wrist, drawing it down and away from the burning spot on the back of his neck. Richie lets it happen, a sense of rightness coming over him as Eddie’s fingers pass from his wrist and into his hand.

They’re holding hands.

Holy shit he’s holding hands with Eddie Kaspbrak.

And it’s of Eddie’s own volition.

_Ho-lee shit._

He tries not to smile too much but he’s loopy and the wolves are giving him wild grins outside the window. Without even thinking of it he just lets himself slump against the other boy, leaning his head towards Bill, only half listening until one word jumps out at him.

“...Angel…” He says in a dead voice. “Bill, what the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s truh-truh-true!” Bill blurts, digging into his pocket. “L-L-L-Look!”

And then the son of a bitch pulls out a feather.

Eddie’s fingers are as limp as a dead fish in his as he stares at the gilded feather. “What the fuck.” He breathes out.

Richie had made so many jokes about this. The heavenly host, God himself, and now look at where they were. He doesn’t want to believe it but there’s a power coming off of it that he can sense from all the way over here. He doesn’t want to touch it, hell, he can’t look for it for too long before a ringing starts up in his ears.

Something awful in him insists that’s probably because he’s damned thrice over at this point in his life.

“Jesus Christ. Oh God, can I say that?!” Richie covers his face with his other hand. “Can I say _that?!_ Fuck, this is insane!”

“Richie.” Eddie laughs in disbelief. “Look at us! Look at what Bill did! We’ve been facing off against a literal demon. It can’t be that impossible, can it?”

But it was. Other World didn’t talk about Heaven, didn’t even think about it. It was a myth, a legend, a thing that humans made up. There was magic in the world so why would there be a need for something like God?

“I dunno Edds…” A tired laugh escapes him. “I feel like this is a group topic. Bev’s asleep and so is Mike.”

“I puh-prob-probably should g-guh-get back ehn-nen-ehneways.” Bill stands, then narrows his eyes. “...C-Cuh-Can I take th-the b-buh-book?”

“Huh?” Richie’s brow slants over his eyes heavily.

“Of course.” Eddie answers on his behalf. “We haven’t really touched it since.” Eddie’s fingers spasm in his and Richie squeezes back softly, carefully…

Eddie clings back and his heart flutters.

“Fuh-fuh-fair.” Bill’s saying something else but his lashes are fluttering, Eddie’s so cool to the touch, so comfortable…

Between one blink and the next, with wolf song echoing through his head, he falls asleep.

“Richie.” A voice whispers, waking him up. He blinks awake sluggishly, pushing his glasses up his forehead to rub at his eyes. Just about nothing’s changed from before. They’re still in the main sitting room, the moonlight filtering through the blinds slanted just a bit more angled than before as she makes her way through the dark sky.

They’re still holding hands.

He uses the back of one hand to knock his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes with a soft whine. “Where’s Bill?” He mumbles, a long and loud yawn leaving him.

“He left about thirty minutes ago. I didn’t want to wake you up but you started to like…” Eddie gives him a soft, amused smile. “Kick your leg a lil, and whine, like a dog.”

His cheeks flare and suddenly he’s a lot more awake. “No!” Richie says under his breath in horror. “Eddie I did not!”

Eddie’s lips wibble before he presses them into a thin line, a snort escaping him. He squeaks out a laugh and then suddenly he’s falling against Richie, laughing until tears are coming out of his eyes. “You should have seen your face!” He manages. “Priceless!”

Richie stares at him open mouth until his own laugh escapes him, catching him off guard practically. “Lil’ shit.” He says fondly, still laughing, giving Eddie’s fingers squeeze.

Eddie’s smile stills, but he doesn’t frown, doesn’t give any outward appearance of not being okay with this. They stare at one another and then Eddie reaches up with his free hand, fixing his glasses, causing him to go red. “You should get some sleep, Richie.”

He’s absolutely right but he doesn’t want to lose any time with Eddie. How close is it until the sun comes up and causes the other boy to fade away? “What about you?” Richie asks and he sees a silent question appear in Eddie’s eyes in response. “Do you even sleep, Edds?” Hell, he didn’t even know that after all these months?

“Ha, no, I don’t… I…” He bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the window. “I can’t remember the last time I really fell asleep, honestly.”

“You wanna join me, for old times sake?”

It's a stupid joke. Completely meaningless and meant to push at Eddie's buttons, but something in him pitches it so low, so seriously, an invitation between two forgotten lovers. His heart thunders, his stomach twists awkwardly, trying to wring out and vomit up what little amount of food that's left in his stomach from earlier on. "You don't have to." He rushes out.

“Okay.”

They speak at the same time and Richie balks as he realizes what the other has said. Eddie averts his eyes even further, keeps his fingers folded into Richie’s larger digits. Don’t fuck this up Tozier. Please, dear God, don’t let him fuck this up.

“Okay.” He finally manages, plain and simple.

“Okay.” Eddie whispers once more.

Okay.

There’s no other room for them to sleep so it’s just as simple as untangling their fingers and laying all the blankets and pillows down on the floor. Richie sees the Cats pass by, Church leading them somewhere that he can’t even begin to fathom. He looks up, sees Eddie toying with the bottom of his windbreaker. “Get comfy.” Richie tells him in a hoarse voice. His own t-shirt feeling like it’s too much on his sweating skin, but there’s no way he can take it off now. He lays down, pulls his glasses off his face before putting them on the coffee table where they won’t get broken.

He hears the windbreaker hit the ground and his heart drops into his stomach with it. Richie spares a glance over his shoulder, sees the slim line of Eddie’s shoulders highlighted in the moonlight through his shirt. Pretty, so god damn pretty, it wasn’t fair…

“You ready?” Eddie finally says and their eyes meet. Had he seen him staring? Did he even care? Richie licks his lips and nods. “...I hope you don’t snore.”

“I hope _you_ don’t snore.” He quips back as they settle in. It’s not the most comfortable. In fact, it’s far from it, but he’s warm and Eddie’s cool and somehow they meet up in the middle without tangling in on each other. Eddie stares at him, eyes dark and shining, the only thing he can really make out without his glasses, blanket pulled up to the tip of his pointed nose. “...Well good night, Eddie.” He breathes.

“...Good night Richie.” Eddie says.

Neither of them moves.

Neither of them breathes.

“You have to close your eyes.” Richie whispers and Eddie kicks his shin in response. “Ow! Fuck!”

“I know that! I just… I can’t stop thinking about everything. Rich… I… I…” He swallows loudly into the quiet of the room. “I went in that book.”

Eddie hadn’t detailed what had happened either time now, with Bev and Mike and with Bill too. The werewolf leans in, closing up more space between them. “What does that mean, Eddie?” He’s scared, damn it. Scared about what that means not only for all of them but most of all what it means for Eddie. He was already this, a pale slip of a boy, practically nonexistent. He didn’t need this.

“It was like I just fell into it, like it was a pond, and I just fell in so deep. There were voices, images.” Eddie’s freezing cold to the touch. “These… lights… calling me at the bottom, but I didn’t trust them. I knew I had to go back, so I did. I don’t know how or why or what even happened but…” Eddie’s grabbing his hand then, desperate, a weak noise sliding out of him. “I’m scared, Richie…”

Richie touches his shoulder and draws Eddie close until they’re pressed up against each other. “I know.” He can’t say it’ll be okay. There’s no way he can make that assumption, no way he’s going to lie to the other, but he can still say this. He knows. Knows how scary it is, how awful everything seemed to be. But there was still the chance that they could fix.

That they would.

“Don’t think about that right now.” Richie touches Eddie’s soft hair, the nape of his neck, smoothing his fingers over it, infinitely softer than when he had scratched his along his own neck. A sigh escapes Eddie and Richie can feel him finally (blessedly) begin to relax. “Your dreams have been waiting for you, Edds.” His voice pitches low and soft as his own sleepiness begins to creep up on him again. “Don’t keep them waiting any longer.”

And with the moon shining down them, seeming to smile almost, they fall asleep, not knowing where one began and the other ended.

 

-

Kay knows Audra’s pissed as hell at herself.

Her movements are jerky as they fall back into their motel room. She’s methodical in removing her weaponry before she spins on her heel, staring at Kay with eyes wide with fear.

“Did she get you?” She chokes out. Before Kay can respond Audra’s checking her neck, her wrists, all over her. If she wasn’t so shaken up from the experience before she’d crack a raunchy joke, but instead she can only stand there as Audra’s hands skim across her, her thoughts a million miles away.

Why had she known that vampire? No, not even vampire. Given the way she had responded to the stake and the light it was a given she was a dhampir. Had to wonder who her father was in the vampire world…  
Of course, she couldn’t ask Audra that, because Audra would look at her like she lost her damn mind. They weren’t people with lives and families, they were monsters to be hunted down. There wasn’t a story to be told when it came to Audra Phillips. Kay on the other hand…

“I’m good, I’m good.” She reassures her girlfriend. “It was weird but she didn’t get me. Let me check you.” They had fought longer and it had been terrifying to watch.   
“I’m fine.” Audra bites out between clenched teeth. “How did she know you?”

Kay draws back a step and looks at Audra. There’s stress there in her shoulders, her brow in pinched, her jaw is working as she clenches it and unclenches it. “I don’t know.” Kay says in a soft voice. “But Audra…” She starts, stops, feels a small sheen of sweat break out across her forehead and down her back.

Had Audra even heard her say Bev’s name (and Kay knew that wasn’t even her full name, it was Beverly Marsh, her heart and brain were sure of it.) Or was she blissfully unaware of this strange happening that shouldn’t even be possible. She hadn’t struggled to place Bev’s name, her face, even her voice… no. It had simply been something that came to the forefront of her mind once she saw her for who she really was.

 _That’s Beverly Marsh_ . It had said. _That’s your friend._

Finally Audra pulls away, pushing her hair back from her face. She hadn’t even bothered to braid it in the usual hunter’s plait. They hadn’t been expecting trouble, only doing a simple scouting before they really got started the following day. “...You were saying something?” She manages roughly and Kay’s stomach plummets.

“N-No, just… thinking out loud.” Lying? She never lied to Audra, but something about this insisted that she do, just for a bit longer until she figured out what the hell was going on. Kay approaches her slowly, framing her face with careful hands. “I’m okay.” She says after a beat, seeing how Audra still watches her in a worried, wary way. “No repeat of this.” Kay points to the scar, smiling just so.

“I just… I was so worried.” Kay leans into her hands and closes her eyes. “God, this town is real fucked up, isn’t it?”   
“You’re telling me.” First the car breaking down, then that creep Tom Rogan, and now the dhampir? What was next? What did the universe hold in store for them. “Hey. Let’s get undressed. I’ll lay the salt lines and check everything and we’ll get some actual sleep before we start tomorrow. How does that sound.”

Audra kisses her right palm then, managing just a hint of a smile. “This is why I’m the one who reacts and you’re the one who thinks. It just works, Kay-Kay.” Kay can’t help but giggle at the nickname, at the teasing way Audra sing songs it. “...I’m sorry if I freaked out.”

“You got worried. Better that than just fucking off.” It’s all too easy to lean in and kiss Audra for real then, laughing as she tastes the egg roll that’s still on her breath. “Oh God, okay, strip, brush your teeth, and I’ll see you in bed missy.”

“Bossy.” Audra hums in a pleased way. “Yes ma’am.” She flounces off and Kay can only stare after her, dread creeping it’s way up her spine. Something was happening here. Something strange and terrifying and completely new.

She can’t help but wonder if they’re suited for this.

She can’t help but hope they can be.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with all sorts of lore. Thanks for your patience guys, and for continuing to read! Almost 1k hits! You're all great <3

Another dawn, another day.

Mike can’t help it. He  _ can’t _ sleep in. He rises with the sun, muscle memory of starting the day out right on the farm causing him to pop up in and out of bed, stretching his limbs up towards the ceiling, the phoenix in him taking to it without a second thought. He doesn’t have super hearing like Richie does so he has to strain his ears to the point of ringing to see if he can make anything out below.

Nothing.

He’s awake inside of a dreaming world.

“Miss Church.” He calls out into the hallway, making sure he’s just loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to wake everyone else up. “You makin’ mischief?”

There’s nothing but birdsong in response. Mike sighs and toes his way along the worn wood, his thoughts making it easy to lose himself. A whole day to do what? Sort through the papers Ms. Kersh had given him, but then the words that Church had given them come to mind, a strange riddle tied up in a poem.

Wind’s poem.

Wisdom’s echo…

Complete nonsense and yet.

(and yet and yet and yet)

There was an insurmountable weight to them as they had sat together on the floor of Ben’s house. “Wind speaks, flame catches, lost wisdom returns.” He turns the words over in his mind and mouth, brow furrowing heavily. Was it his flame or another? What of this supposed lost wisdom? Was that what Eddie had dug up or something else? Were they in the thick of it or was there even more to be had?

“Church.” He calls out again, looking for some kind of momentary distraction. She had trotted off when they had asked her to expand the night before, giving Beverly a pointed look that had caused the dhampir to stiffen and glare some in response. Mike had tried to ask later and Bev had simply waved it off, mentioning that Church was a little too smart for her own good. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and glances around. “C’mon now, you lookin’ for some breakfast? You’re gonna get spoiled, turn into a real house cat if you keep this up…” Mike muses.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

He looks up to find Church skimming along the railing bannister on little paws. “I used to judge all those bastards in the house but now I’m really starting to get it.” She stretches out before leaping out into the air in a graceful free fall. Mike catches her just in time, his breath leaving him in a rush as he almost manages to drop the damn cat. “See! I didn’t have to ask you, you simply did it without a second thought!” She brings a paw up to her curled mouth, looking all too pleased for her own good.

“God damn it Church.” Mike gives her a little shake. “You could have gotten hurt!”

She gives him an unimpressed look before shrugging her little cat shoulders (which in itself was a jarring image that Mike wishes he could erase from his mind, but it’s there now, sure enough.) “We always land on our feet, Michael.” To prove her point she wiggles around before tumbling out of his arms, landing on all fours without a sound. She looks up at him, tail twitching left and right. “Now, take me to the kitchen, you wish to talk and I wish to eat.” 

He bites back an annoyed groan. Breakfast did sound nice. Too bad it aligned with Church’s demands. You couldn’t win them all, Hanlon. Sometimes you just had to bite your tongue and accept it. “Breakfast it is.” He sighs as he makes his way to the room.

He doesn’t like this house without Ben in it. Without the careful and kind magic that he had laid along the foundation. There ought to be something and there’s not, only quiet nothing in its wake. Mike opens the fridge and takes solace in the way it rattles, peeking in to see what was held inside. “You know…” Church says, apparently now above him, tail swishing in a slow and calculated way as she perches from the edge of the fridge. “This is the first Sunday you haven’t gone to Mass.”

Mike goes very still, hand clenching around the handle as he draws in a slow breath. Church had been the one place his parents had felt safe enough taking him to every Sunday (and all those important Holidays too, like Ash Wednesday and Christmas and Easter, of course.) “That’s not correct, Miss Church.” The phoenix says in a very soft voice, having finally found it again. “There was one time where I was sick…”

Deadly sick, if he’s being honest with himself, when he had been a little boy, chills wracking their way through his entire body, sweat pouring off of him, his flame next to nothing. No, he hadn’t gone to church that day but it had come to him. The Hanlon household was suddenly brimming with worried faces and gospel song and the feeling of belonging until late into the night when his mama finally forced everyone out. “Don’t need a church to worship.” He informs her gently, pulling out a carton of eggs, checking to make sure they were still good. Not farm fresh but still decent. He can work with that. 

“Just need the faith in your heart and enough trust in the Lord for him to show you the way.” Religion had been an open conversation in their home, in part due to their heritage. How did God factor into a world filled with monsters? He was a guiding principle, a constant companion through all walks of life.

Always there, always ready and patient and loving.

It takes a bit but Mike manages to rustle up some pots and pans and measuring cups too for his quest, plucking herbs from the hanging plants above head as he does. “Momma always said you gotta start the day out right.” He sings under his breath, more mumble-breath than actual melody as he stands at the stove, starting it up. “Daddy always got that first quick bite. Gramma always made that sweet, sweet bread, and grampa always took his time gettin’ out of bed.” Never again would he hear his mama’s sweet voice trilling its way up the stairs, hear the heavy tread of his father’s boots as he headed out the door to the field, always one step ahead of Mike. No creak of gramma’s rocking chair and grampa’s snores to follow…

(Nothing, nothing, nothing.)

A tear slips and then another, drying before he even has a chance to wipe them away on his heated skin. “...Do you think they’re somewhere good?” Somewhere like… like heaven? He doesn’t dare speak the second question as the room fills with the sounds and smells of good things cooking. Church jumps from the top of the fridge to the floor, winding her way between his legs slowly before bumping her face up against his leg.

“There is Other and there is Here for us cat kind, or so we would like to think. As for your family, I would like to think that they are Here somewhere, in patches of sunlight, in the bluest part of the flame. They are life, Michael.” She gazes up at him, blinking slowly. “No matter how hard that demon tried to wipe it away, that fact remains true.”

Just like that he’s on his knees, scooping the cat up to his chest, hugging her tight and burying his face against her soft fur. She lets out a little upset cat noise, a _ mrmph! _ of annoyance, but Mike can tell she doesn’t really mean it. “Thank you.” He manages in a tight whisper.

“You can thank me by making me food, boy. And not letting it burn either.” Oh, right. He deposits Church back onto the floor and turns his focus back to the first omelette he’s managed to make up.

Sometime later, when there’s been two omelettes made and the third one is about done, there’s a loud yawn that draws his attention to the kitchen door. Richie Tozier’s there, hair mussed and face stubbled, bleary eyed from behind his glasses. “Holy shit.” He smiles then in an absent and sleepy way. “S’that real food?”

Mike snorts. “What else is it supposed to be, Rich?” The werewolf slips a hand under his shirt and scratches at his stomach as he stumbles into the room, those glasses of his apparently no help whatsoever.

“Fuck if I know, my diet’s rare burgers from the diner down on the main drag, Eggo’s for brekkie, and cigs for snacks.” Richie yawns again, falling into the nearest chair at the table. “Maybe some sour patch kids if I’m feelin’ like, adventurous.”

“How in the hell are you not dead?” Mike mutters to himself. Despite his best efforts Richie hears it and gives a snort. He passes by the fridge once more, glancing in to see what kind of hot sauce Ben has before joining Richie at the table, shoving a plate and some Cholula in his direction before gently laying a fork before him. 

Richie lights up at it and proceeds to drown his omelette in the stuff. “In response to your earlier question… the wolf makes me a lean, mean, fightin’ machine.” He pops a bite into his mouth then, barely chewing before swallowing it down. “Jesus fuck, what did you put in this?” Richie barks loudly, causing Mike to startle.

“Tarragon, chervil, parsley, chopped up some bacon bits? Ben had some peppers left over… Why? Is it bad?” Mike feels the worry upon his face before he can stop himself. He had just been experimenting with what he had found, hopeful that it would make something good. His own omelette was still untouched, left that way as he watched the werewolf in a mix of horror and fascination.

“Fuck no, it’s… holy fuck this is  _ so _ good, Mikey. I’m gonna make love to this fucker. Holy shit.” Richie takes his time chewing this time around, groaning loudly and in a way that makes Mike shoot an embarrassed look up to the ceiling. “Dude, Mike, you’re… this is…Mmmmgod...”

“We get it, boy, it’s  _ good _ .” Church whispers in a horrified voice. “My goodness, please, cease with all the noises. It’s  _ very _ indecent!”

Richie hooks his thumbs up at his chest, speaking with his mouth completely full, spewing a few pieces up onto the table. “ _ I’m _ indecent!” He crows proudly before stabbing his fork down once more.

Only to find nothing there.

“No.” He whispers in horror. “Mike…”

“Here.” He’s already sliding his plate across the table, an amused laugh leaving him as a surprised gasp leaves Richie before he’s taking his sweet time cutting this one up, humming as he takes the first bite. 

They sit like that for a bit, Mike eventually getting up to take Bev’s food for his own. He could still make her another one, or maybe even see if she wanted something else once she got up. He takes his first bite (it really _ is _ good) before nudging Richie under the table with his foot. “So…”

Richie looks up slowly. “So.” He parrots back.

“We gonna talk about that riddle?” There’s a scoff from below and Mike shoots a look at Church. “What?”

“Riddle to you, a prophecy to others, boy.” She’s bent over herself, tongue passing along the fur that lines her spine. “Words that have been the Universe’s for aeons now.” She mutters in annoyance, as if she can’t believe they’re really so stupid...

Aeons. He shudders subtly with it, pressing his hands into his thighs to ground himself. He rolls them over his jeans once, twice, relaxing at the feeling of stitched denim under his fingers. “Alright then. The Universal Truth, let’s just call it that, yeah?”

“Universal Truth.” Richie echoes back with a nod. Mike glances down at Church and finds her looking extremely pleased with herself at their wording. 

Mike chews his food slowly. “So are we gonna talk about it?” He asks again as he leans down, holding a handful out to Church (who sniffs it once before gobbling it down greedily.)

Richie wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, sighing loudly in response. “Yeah, I guess we should.” He leans forward then, hand now working across his jaw and the scruff there, his hands in constant motion. “Oh, wait, I’ve got something completely new and buckwild to add to this situation, by the way.”

His fork pauses its journey to his mouth. “I’m sorry.” Mike says, putting his fork down as he levels Richie with an incredulous look. “Did you just say  _ buckwild _ ?” 

“Fuck off, listen. You’re not going to believe this.” Something strange comes to Richie’s face then. It’s a hint of a smile but it’s nervous, going tight at the corners and stretching over his sharp teeth. “Are you a man of God, Hanlon?”

Heaven and Hell, monsters and gods. The fire in him stirs and flares at it and he leans forward, meeting Richie Tozier halfway over their dirtied plates. “And what if I am, Tozier?” He counters back in a low voice.

“Well let’s just say... checkmate, atheists.” He lays it in the space between them then, something that his mind doesn’t make sense of at first until he really looks at it.

A feather dusted and made up of gold.

A feather that hummed with some kind of unspeakable energy.

A feather that was undoubtedly from an angel of God.

-

“Bill, it’s time to get up.” 

That’s his father standing above him. Bill blinks and sits up, rubbing at his eyes, looking to his left until he finds his alarm clock. He balks at the time, not quite believing it at first. It can’t possibly be that late, it’s nearly noon! But then he sees the way the sun slants through the windows and Bill’s worse fears are confirmed. “Duh-duh-dad.” He stutters out. Richie and Mike were probably waiting for him along with Bev. He didn’t have time for this. Whatever this was. “Suh-sorry, my al-luh-larm.” God, his stutter always seemed that much more obvious when his father was around. It was the one thing he couldn’t make up for no matter how much he did, how well he did it…

Zach’s hands come up and it doesn’t feel like it ought to. Not a thing of placating. No, it’s a silent warning for Bill to be quiet. He feels ten years old all over again as he shifts under his covers, wishing his dad would just leave him the hell alone. “We need to talk, Bill.”

“K-Kuh-Can it w-wuh-wait?” By the way his father’s brows slant it’s obvious that it can’t and it won’t. He bites back a groan and sits up straighter. “What’s uh-uh-up?” The ‘p’ pops awkwardly and Bill flushes with it.

The older male sighs before taking a seat at the edge of bed, folding his hands into his lap. How many times had this happened when he was growing up? Not enough, but still often. It was normally his mother who sat right at the corner of it, her voice soft as she coaxed Bill out of his worst and darkest moments of teenage angst, always patient as he worked through his awful stutter, too good for this world in all honesty. Her husband, on the other hand, always managed to get to the point. There was no beating around the bush with him. The ‘talk’ had been short and to the point, not a hint of sweetness about it, and for the few times he had really fucked up (an in school suspension when he had attempted to defend himself against Henry, or the time he had been found trying to smoke weed at the edge of their backyard…) Zach had laid into Bill in a thorough, verbal way that had left no room for debate. 

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Bill? What the fuck is going on in your head?” God, he really is pissed to all hell. Bill couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard his father swear like this. “I get that you’re… you’re upset. Your mother is too, and so am I. But running off to be with your friends?” That last word is a death sentence, a death knell of sorts. It rings through Bill, causing him to go cold under his sheets.

“W-Wuh-What do y-yuh-you muh-mean, Dad?” He manages out.

“Christ, Bill, it’s Derry! You know how damn small this town is! How everyone has something to say about anything.” He throws his hands up before bringing them down on his thighs again, so sharp it causes Bill to flinch. “George is missing and Bill Denbrough’s out gallivanting with hooligans, that’s what I get to hear when I literally walk out the door to get the god damn mail.”

“Th-thu-they’re n-nuh-not-!” He starts but Zach begins to speak over him. Ten, you’re ten again Bill… a child!

“I don’t care. You ran out on us and then spent the entire day hiding, ignoring all the calls and texts we sent you, and then we find you asleep in bed until the middle of the day today. And like I said I get that you’re upset Bill but this is no way for an adult to act! You have a place here in this home!” Each word is a slap in the face and suddenly Bill finds himself slouching, ducking his head, shying away from his father. “You can’t be acting like this. Think of your mother! Think of what you look like, what this comes off as!”

Like what? “Aye-yi-I… I wuh-was...w-wuh-was.” He starts, stops, covers his face and pulls at his hair a little until his scalp smarts from it. Focus, Bill. Get the words out of your stupid mush mouth. “L-luh-luh-luhluhluh…”

“Christ.” He hears his father swear under his breath and it tears him to absolute shreds. He stops right there, feeling frustrated tears spring to his eyes, cheeks flushing with his embarrassment. “Just… get up, clean up, and come downstairs. Your mother’s worried sick.” What about you, dad? Did you care? “We’re going to go down to the station today and file an official report since it’s been-” Zach Denbrough goes quiet very quickly and Bill’s left with the awkward silence that follows, his own emotional state still a tumultuous and untrustworthy thing. 

Bill doesn’t watch his father stand but he feels the bed’s weight shift. “Get cleaned up.” Zach says in a rough voice once more. The door opens and closes moments later and Bill’s left there staring at his bedsheets through the spaces between his fingers.

“George.” His voice breaks with it sometime later and the tears finally come, spilling over into his hands. He’s wracked by guilt, by fear, by each sob that leaves him until he’s gulping for air. It’s not enough. 

It’ll never be enough…

“N-nuh-not e-nuh-nough.” He chokes out. “Y-yuh-you’re n-not…”

“Now you know that’s not true.”

His head whips up and the angel stands at the foot of his bed, long arms crossed over his chest, brow arched in fine judgement.

He sighs and unspools himself as Bill stares at him completely flabbergasted, each movement fluid and graceful. Bill can only watch as he approaches and places a cool hand on his cheek. For a moment hold each other’s gazes in silence and then the other boy smiles and it’s  _ everything _ to Bill in that moment.

“See?” He says in a soft voice. His thumb brushes upwards, collecting a tear on the cusp of it, and Bill’s entire body shudders with the touch. “You’re fine.” A pause and he looks up, his eyes connecting with the other’s, gold threading through brown. “You’re fine, Bill.”

He gives an odd little laugh, a choked thing that he can’t help given the circumstances… given the situation. “Am I?” He can’t help it then. He reaches up and touches the angel’s hand, his wrist, absolutely fascinated as his fingers wrap around the pale flesh, thumb overlapping his other digits easily. 

Real. Real real real.

“Y-you came b-buh-back.” 

The angel tilts his head in question and gives a short and easy laugh. So human, Bill can’t help but think, if not for his blurred edges, if not for those strange eyes of his. “Sooner rather than later.” He says to himself, not making a lick of sense. “I will say, you make it very hard to stay away, Bill Denbrough.” His voice is quiet and pleasant, a balm against his shaken nerves.

“Wh-who...what…” So many questions. Where are your wings, why are you here, what’s happening. They all traipsed and skipped around his head, not one of them seeming like the right thing to start this conversation with. Not with the other’s hand still framing his cheek, not with this lack of space between them.

“Uriel.” He says. “Let’s start there.”

A car drives down the street outside his window, stupidly mundane with the sound of it’s ruined muffler and tires falling into and rolling out of the potholes that line the road. He can hear his parents downstairs, his father’s voice rough and short as his mother stays uncharacteristically quiet in response. “Uriel.” Bill repeats and it sounds nothing like when the angel said it. At least he didn’t stutter his way through it, and that itself is a god send.

Just like this angel.

Uriel smiles when he says it though and Bill smiles back and for a moment they’re just two normal people, sitting in a bed together.

His bed, now that he thinks of it.

Bill unlatches and throws his hands up with a startled noise, cheeks flooding with color at the implication of it all. You went from holding hands with someone for the first time to this, Bill Denbrough. What was next? Oh, no, don’t think of that now. Sure, he was a normal young man, enjoyed himself more often than not, but those had been half dreams and fantasies.

This was all very terribly real all of a sudden.

Uriel blinks as he tries to collect himself, head tilting just so. “Humans are so interesting.” He murmurs. “You’re usually more collected than this.”

“Y-y-you don’t have to tuh-tuh-tell me.” He swings his feet out of his bed and on the floor, forcing himself up into a standing position. Good, this was better. Would he be acting this way if Mike was in his bed? Why would Mike even be in his bed? This is stupid and he needs to focus, damn it. “Uriel.” He states the other’s name again, clinging to how clearly he can pronounce it.

“Yes?” The angel hums back and Bill swears his eyes are playing tricks on him because the angel almost looks smug.

Bill pushes out a low breath and pushes his hair back from his face. Focus, Denbrough. “S-so, w-wuh-what do you nuh-nuh-know?” Where did he start? Where did he begin?

“Oh, the demon, of course.” Uriel stands then too and the high ground advantage that Bill had over him is lost. He’s so damn tall? Was that normal? He tries to think back to all those bible passages and stories. Recountings of angelic envoys who declared and trumpeted their presence, who burned with heavenly fire and divine purpose. Nothing though about being unfairly tall and handsome, though. They didn’t tell you  _ that _ in the bible. 

“You’ve taken up strange company, Bill Denbrough. I never once thought that your life would hold such possibility. I suppose that’s why you’re my charge though.” Bill balks at the statement, mouth falling open as he realizes what’s being said.

“Y-you-you… You’re m-my guard...guardian…” His voice becomes so small it ceases to exist, leaving them in complete silence.

“That’s right.” And then Bill sees them.

His wings.

White and gold, the image of perfection. Bill’s breath leaves him then as well and he’s left to just stare at him, at them, at the glory and grace of it all. At the zoo far outside of Derry limits they had this sign where you could compare your arms to the wingspan of birds of prey. Georgie hadn’t been any bigger than an American Kestrel, and Bill had stretched himself out as far as he could and found he was no bigger than a Red Tailed Hawk.

Uriel was California Condor. No. Bigger than that, obviously. The wingtips brushed up against the sides of his too small childhood room, bending awkwardly at some points, but the other male looked generally unbothered by it. He must have noticed Bill’s staring because he tucked them back and just like that they disappeared. “My apologies, I forgot myself...” 

“S’ohk-kuh-kay.” Bill whispers back, not trusting himself to speak above that point. He forces himself to think instead. So Uriel knew of the demon, of what he had been doing. Of Ben and Bev and Richie and Eddie and Mike too. So why now? Why reveal himself now? 

The words come out of him, unbidden. “I duh-don’t...don’t know wh-what to d-d-do now.” 

Bill shifts awkwardly at his own admission. He didn’t know what do about this angel in his room, about his missing brother, about the fact that he felt like he was being torn in two, no three, no... He was being shredded apart by this into hundreds of thousands of pieces...

A shadow falls over him and he looks up to see those wings of Uriel’s again arched over him. “Come with me.” He smiles and it’s a beatific thing that soothes his soul and mind alike.

To where? “My puh-puh-parents.” He doesn’t want to be the voice of reason but he has to be despite only wanting to escape from here. He’s already wasted enough time. Still, what about everyone else who had to be waiting for him? “...Y-you know… you  _ know _ my buh-buh-brother is m-m-missing.” He rasps out between awkward pauses and stutters. “H-he kuh-kuh-comes fuh-first.” No more fucking around. No more bullshit. He thinks of the spider, the slip, the riddle.

Wind’s poem, wisdom’s echo...

Uriel’s watching him with wide eyes, brows raising just so. “Then... do you want me to come with you?” His voice pitches high, as if he’s not entirely too sure if that’s the question he should be posing, like he hadn’t been expecting Bill to say no. He thinks of his parents then, how disappointed they’ll be, how angry and confused…

He thinks of George, scared and alone, maybe even hurt.

“Yes.” He says finally.

The angel folds his hand into his, taking Bill by complete surprise. For a moment they stare at one another and Bill can’t but think about how different Uriel’s hand is from Mike’s. They’re both smooth but there was a delicateness to Uriel’s fingers, long and tapered, that couldn’t compare to the broadness that was Mike’s palms and digits too. And cool! He was so much cooler to the touch in comparison to Mike. “Uriel.” He begins.

There’s a sudden rushing in his ears, the feeling of the floor giving away. Every color bleeds out until the whole world is black and white. 

Everything but Uriel’s eyes.

No, those are gold.

“Uriel!” He shouts and they up and disappear into thin air.

They reappear in Ben Hanscom’s house.

In his kitchen.

On the table.

In front of Mike Hanlon and Richie Tozier.

Bill can only watch in horror as Richie howls in surprise and tips back in his chair onto the ground, landing with a terrible crash. Mike just sits there, a book in his lap, eyes wide as he stares up at the two of them. “...H-hi…” Bill manages out.

The table gives a terrible groan then and before he can even register what’s happening it’s breaking under them. The legs give first and then it just folds in on itself, taking it with them with a god awful noise that echoes through the whole house.

“Jesus CHRIST!” Richie’s on all fours after it’s all said and done, his teeth bared at them. Bill stares at him from among the debris and it only takes fifteen whole seconds for Richie to become aware of himself, of what he looks like. He quickly rolls onto his side and pops up, quicker than he can make sense of. “What the FUCK, dude?!” He shrieks.

“The table…” That’s Mike in a soft and horrified voice. “What are we gonna tell Ben?”

“Forget Ben. Forget the table. Who in the hell is this?!” Richie points his finger at Uriel. The angel is sitting among the wreckage, blinking as he studies the ceilings above head, seemingly unaware of the sudden interrogation. Bill looks at him, looks at Mike, looks at Richie.

He can’t help the snort that escapes him.

Bill holds up his hands before Richie can bite off his head (possibly literally, now that he thinks of it.) He dusts some of the wood off of him, careful to watch for splinters, confusion coming over him as he finds all sorts of papers mixed into the mess as well. He holds one up, face screwing up at the contents. “Sewers?” He says as he rustles through the papers.

“They’re the oldest piece of Derry, Bill. But I think Richie asked you a question.” That despairing Mike from moments before has been erased, leaving a stern and glaring phoenix in his place. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Uriel.” He speaks for himself as he stands. Bill finds Richie staring and Mike too, both with incredulity and disbelief. Uriel must sense it because he stands a bit taller, beaming in pride. “I’m Bill’s guardian angel.”

It’s Richie’s turn to snort except it isn’t just a snort. It’s a full out guffaw that has him doubling over on himself. Uriel’s brow slants and he’s stomping over to the other boy, glaring at him. Goodness, there was a lot of tall people here. Bill felt suddenly self conscious but then remembered how much shorter Eddie was in comparison to him, and not to mention poor Bev! At least he wasn’t in their boat. Still, Uriel is glaring down at Richie and Richie’s just yucking it up on the ground, completely unaware.

“What’s so funny, wolf?” The angel says in a cool voice.

“Your name!” Richie blurts back. “It’s real cool that you’re like, Billy’s guardian angel, but I am not… I am not calling you Uriel! What kind of name…”

“That is my name, given to me by Our Father. It means God is my Light.” He seethes. “That is who I am, and you simply cannot take that away from me!”

Of course Richie is Richie, there’s not stopping him once he’s started. The werewolf stands up and claps Uriel on the back, leaning in so close that there’s barely any space between them. “Whatever you say, Chris.” He screws up his face and shakes his head as Uriel gapes at him in confusion. “No, no, that’s not it. I’m working on it, okay? Give me a bit. I’ll come up with the perfect name for you.”

It catches up to him then and Uriel huffs through his nose and Bill’s not sure if he should be laughing or screaming. “There’s already something perfect!” Richie’s already making his way over to Bill now though, a sly grin on his face. Bill tries to pin him with a ‘don’t start’ look but it goes unnoticed (or, knowing Richie, ignored.)

“So glad you could finally make it, Billiam, though I have to say the company is unexpected. What brought our friend here to this plane of existence? That is based on the assumption that he exist on one made of celestial intent, of course.” Richie hooks his arm around Bill’s shoulder, tugging him close, smiling all the while.

“I came to help.” Uriel grinds out. “I’ve  _ been _ helping since the damn Ironworks.”

“T-thuh-that was y-you?!” Bill had thought of it sure, but he hadn’t been certain. The small child in the Ironworks, fleet footed and sly faced, leading him to the smokestack where Mike had been hiding away. Uriel was looking past him now, to where Mike was shifting through the broken table bits, purposely keeping his attention off of them.

“Michael.” Uriel calls his name. Mike stops and looks up, his own golden eyes more bronze and wary than Bill could ever remember seeing them. Uriel shifts awkwardly, holds out his hand before drawing it back to his chest. “...How are you feeling?” He implores.

“Well I’ve been better, if we’re being honest.” Mike’s response is halting and slow. He picks up some papers from the mess and holds them close to his chest, finally averting his eyes. “Made breakfast today and that went well and fine, but we found that Bev went and ditched in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah. Mike won’t let me go after her. Says she’s make her way back to us.” Richie’s hand tightens on Bill’s shoulder. Great, now they were down two in the group. Something about the number feels off. They were barely even five if you counted the fact that Eddie wasn’t here half the time. Could he count Uriel too? 

Should he?

“So we’ve been doing research on that riddle Eddie gave us, taking breaks by looking at old info on Derry.” Mike looks at Uriel, really looks at him. The room suddenly feels that much warmer and Bill shifts under Richie’s grip but the werewolf holds him close. “What do you know about lost wisdom, Uriel?”

“What do you know about it, Michael?” Uriel closes the space between them easily and Bill jerks forward only to be held in place by Richie. He goes to protest but sees the way he’s perked towards the conversation. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, right ear curved towards the two other males. 

“My  _ cat _ knew it, so don’t go looking to start a fight with me. She said when the wind speaks and the flame catches, the quiet echo of lost wisdom will return. I don’t know what the hell it means. I’ve been trying to unravel this damn thing since I woke up this morning and now you’re here, brimming with Heavenly Fire. I’m here too, and all I am is my flame, so what does that mean for us?” A pause in which Mike’s eyes slide to his, almost too quick to be caught. “What does it mean to them?”

“Yeah Carl, what about us?” Richie sniffs, breaking the tension as best as he can. “Cos like, I kind of like being alive, and not being enslaved by a crazy demon set on altering the fabric of reality.” A pause. “But yanno, that’s just me, James.”

“Beep beep.” Bill mutters under his breath at the other boy, causing him to smirk and smother a snort.

Uriel sighs and pinches his brow before casting his eyes up to the ceiling. “That riddle, as you call it, is something that we have pondered since the beginning of time. Heaven itself is strange… complicated… I can’t even begin to describe it to you without going on for days at a time. And besides.” He casts Richie a dirty look. “Not all of you will make it there, anyways.”

“Surprising literally no one.” Richie says easily. “Get to the juicy bits! You’ve got me on the edge of my Bill. Get it, cos… cos it’s like, the edge of my seat, but I’m not sitting, I got Bill right here and-” Bill bites back a groan as Richie begins to ramble.

“Beep beep, Richie!” Mike calls tersely, still not breaking his eye contact with Uriel, fists clenched at his sides.

“Right, shutting up now.”

“The fact is is that we came into our existence with that question in the back of our mind. All of the heavenly host, even those that have fallen. You’ve been pondering it all morning? I’ve been pondering it since I my Father shaped my grace and gave me form when it all began.” Bill shudders at the implication of beginnings and Richie holds him a bit closer. “For every man, woman and monster in all of history there has never been anything that could resemble an answer outside of speculation and guess work. Words with purpose but no means to execute them, to even begin to understand what they truly mean.”

“The angel is correct.” Church says as she enters the room. “...My God, what did you do the table?” She bats at some of the wood, whiskers twitching as she does.

“It’s made for eating, not for standing on. Bill and Ted didn’t get the memo apparently.”

“Puh-pluh-please Rich, d-duh-don’t call him T-Ted.” Bill begs. 

Richie rolls his eyes and huffs in mock annoyance. “It’s… I’m ballparking, Denbrough. Come on. I’ve almost got it, I swear.”

“I told you, my name is Uriel, wolf!”

Richie finally steps away from Bill, pointing an accusatory finger at the angel. “And my name is Richie! Richard James Tozier, actually, but you’re not my mom, so you don’t get to pull the full name schtick.” 

Uriel’s lip curls and it can’t mean anything good. “Noted, Dick.”

Mike blows out a low whistle as he rocks back, holding up both hands as if to say ‘not my problem’ before he starts to slowly make his way away from what can only be the soon to be blast zone. Bill looks at Church and the cat looks back with a wide eyed and fearful look that caused him to spring in action. “Guh-guys!” He calls out, stepping between them. “C’mon!”

“He doesn’t get to call me Dick!” Richie snarls. “Tell him Bill.”

“Tell  _ him _ he doesn’t get to call me whatever he so pleases!” Uriel huffs back.

“You sure you’re an angel of the Lord? Can’t you just, smite him?” Mike says in the background, barely audible. “...Hell, I’d be smiting left and right if I could, especially if it came to that one…”

“And I can’t, because then my grace would be forfeit, so unless you can begin to behave Dick, we’re not going to get along at all.” Richie’s lip curls back and a very smug look comes upon Uriel’s face in response. “I know that’ll be hard, what with the change coming upon you-”

Richie moves faster than what should be humanly possible. That’s because he’s not human Bill, a too late thought reminds him. Not human at all. They both hit the floor and Uriel’s wings make themselves known with the first hit. Church hisses and runs out and Bill and Mike only have to share one look before they both spring into action. Mike grabs Uriel and Bill does his best to get Richie but the dark haired boy is a flurry of limbs and action and rage. He feels the other’s muscle strain under his shirt, the way Richie’s body shakes as a growl climbs out of him. He remembers that Richie then that smiled at him in the park, dark and strange and monstrous, but he holds on tighter despite it. “Richie!” He yells. “S-S-Stop it!”

Teeth snap in his face and all Bill wants to do is roll away from him and run but he can’t. What happened to that Bill that faced down the demon in the Ironworks? That brave and daring boy? He had something to fight for, a smaller part of him insists. But what do you have to fight for right now? 

Yourself, Bill.

Fight.

He tangles his fingers into Richie’s hair before pressing his face into the floor. “Stop!” He says again. “I’m y-yuh-your friend!” Richie’s eyes are yellow when they roll up to Bill, fangs peeking out over his bottom lip. “Fuh-fuh-friends don’t… duh-duh-don’t... “ He swallows up a deep breath and shouts the last words right at wolf (because this isn’t Richie. It couldn’t be…) “ _ DON’T HURT EACH OTHER. _ ”

The yellow bleeds away at that and all that’s left is the usual brown of Richie’s eyes. He gives a low whimper in the back of his throat before he turns his face, pressing his red cheeks against the floor. “‘M sorry.” He manages out, his entire body going lax. 

“...It’s the change…” Uriel says, his voice much softer and kinder now, sadder as well. “It’s going to happen tomorrow. He’ll shift…” He’s tangled up in Mike, his curls falling over his brow, oh so pale compared to the glowing darkness of the phoenix. “I’m sorry, it was… wrong of me to goad you.” He finally admits.

“Yeah, well.” Richie shrugs, voice throaty and wrecked. “I bought into it so, it’s on me, I guess.” 

The silence that falls over them is awkward, unwelcome. All Bill wants is for it to go away but it seems oh so eager to stay. He does the next best thing then. He stands up and tugs Richie up with him, forces him to follow despite how his feet trip over themselves, how he begins to protest aloud. “Yuh-yuh-Uriel…” He starts, looking down at the angel. “Richie’s a fuh-fuh-fuckin’ dumb ass. If y-you’re my guh-guh-guardian a-nan-nangel… you should nuh-know that.” He wets his bottom lip, closes his eyes, continues. “If y-you want t-t-tuh… to h-hueh-help, t-then we nuh-nuh-need to all g-g-guh...!” He bites his tongue and grimaces but he can’t stop now, even as he tastes blood in his mouth. “Guh-guh-GET!” It finally splutters out of him, ugly and loud, causing Richie to startle and Uriel’s eyes to go saucer wide in his thin face. Bill rolls his tongue inside his mouth before passing it over his bottom lip. “...Get along.” He manages out, coloring with it.

No one moves or speaks. For a moment he regrets even saying anything. This is why you write, Bill. It was so much easier to make sense of his words when he penned them out, made them into something meaningful instead of off the top of his head and without second thought. But then Mike steps into the scene, leaning into the conversation with his hands on his hips. “You heard him. You two best get along now, or else.” The dark skinned boy looks up at him and smiles, slow and sweet as honey, causing Bill’s heart to thrill in his chest. 

Which isn’t right because hadn’t he felt the same exact thing when Uriel had smiled at him from across the length of sheets and blankets atop his bed? Guilt smothers his smile and causes him to duck his head until his hair falls over his face. What was this? Some kind of young adult novel? A love triangle in the making? How stupid...

“R-r-right.” He chokes out a beat too late but it goes unnoticed. Richie’s rubbing at his flushed cheeks and Uriel’s fixing his hair with an apologetic glance. Things settle and right themselves right before his very eyes and Bill’s thankful for that much, at least.

“Are you all done in there!?” Church peeks around the corner, fur standing on end. “You! You’re an angel! What, have you gone native?” She twitches her tail and scampers in. “Don’t answer that. I do not want to know what spending time on Earth has done to you. Guardian Angels are always so messy...” She sighs under her breath.

“You’re a very smart cat who seems to know many things.” Uriel says with a pointed glance and everyone looks down at her in joint agreement. Church harrumphs in response and steps over him (despite the angel’s protests) to make her way to Mike. The way the phoenix hides his smile in her fur doesn’t go unnoticed by Bill who feels his own smile come across his face in response. Richie sees it too, smiles just so, a little more worn than usual but there all the same.

Progress.

“So, what is next on the agenda for you boys? I do hope there’s no more tables being broken. There is only so many in this house...” Church sighs from the cradle that Mike’s made out of his arms for her. “It is, after all, only five more days until the demon shows up once more.” She says it in such a bored voice but Bill sees the insistence in her large eyes. Five days to solve a riddle, find his brother, save their friend…

Richie shrugs his shoulders, his usual self coming back in full with each passing moment. He looks at Bill who shrugs back in response, then to Mike who shakes his head unhelpfully. “Well, looks like we don’t have any ideas, so what’s the plan, Stan?” The moment it leaves his mouth Uriel’s eyes go wide and Richie lights up.

“Oh no, no. My name.. My name is  _ not _ Stan.” A strange light comes to Uriel’s eyes but it’s gone in a blink. “Bill, please, tell him-”

“Give it a go, Denbrough. Just say it. Stan. Stanley! Stan the Man!” Richie nudges his side, grinning wildly. “You too Mike, you see how it sounds. It’s… it’s perfect!”

“S-Stan.” It’s just a moment of stuttering that he can easily correct. He tries it again, looking right at Uriel as he says it again. “Stan.”

“I think Stan’s great.” Mike fixes a stray curl and the two look at each other for a moment, then another, and then yet another moment. “Uriel’s real good too.” Mike says in a much softer voice.

“...I suppose it isn’t the worse.” Uriel whispers back, just as soft.

He becomes Stan, just like that.

-

There’s dirt in her mouth as she rises from her shallow grave.

Bev spits it out onto the ground and covers her eyes, peeking out at the world between the slots. It’s midday and the world is alive around her. Summer in Derry, what could you do? She forces herself further out and shakes her hair out, brushing her hands down the front of her dress, grimacing at the feeling of crusted blood upon it. 

What a fucking mess.

She sits there for a moment more, doing her best to think through everything that had happened and what she would have to do next. Hunters… there were hunters in Derry. And somehow, someway, they knew who she was. Bev brought a hand up to her mouth only to curl her lip in disgust as she saw the dirt packed under her nails. “Never mind.” She mutters to herself. 

She had to get home, but how? Especially like this? Her momentary healing session in the grave had sealed up all her cuts from the night before but she didn’t need a mirror to know she looked like an absolute horror. No phone either, of course… Bev takes a handful of dirt and throws it as far and hard as she can with a growl.

“God damn it.” She stands and finishes dusting herself off to the best of her ability. She had run so far after last night, trying to lose the two hunter women, trying to get away from the monster that had nearly emerged from her skin. Still, there was no denying the taste of old blood that coated her mouth, no getting away from that…

Bev begins to make her way through the forest, keeping her body low to the ground. All sorts of bugs and crawling things made themselves with shrieking song and low buzzing, some of them even flying up and around her as she continued to make her way towards civilization. Maybe she could stop at the Kendeskaug, she told herself. Wash herself off better there…

A twig snaps, the perfect mirror of the night before, and she flattens herself completely in response this time. No fight, nearly flight, waiting to see what was making its way towards her. 

There’s voices in the distance and coming closer. Two males, their tread strangely careful across damp grounds. “I swear next time I see that faggot I’m gonna beat his shit in. Don’t care where it is.” She makes a face at their coarse language but still keeps herself grounded. Don’t react, Bev. Don’t.

“Oh yeah Henry, that’ll look real good.” The other voice sighs. “We’re not children anymore.” For a moment she thinks that this one is the reason of the group, but then his voice turns cold and sharp and gleeful. “You have to think of other ways now.”

“Like what?” Henry splutters and something hits the water hard, causing a loud splash. “Christ, hanging out with that weirdo lurker, and that ni-”

“Henry.” The other once chastises him once the word is said and done. Bev’s ears ring from the slur. “What, you want to beat his shit in too now? He didn’t do anything.” Why did he sound like that? Subtly provocative and all kinds of dangerous, dragging you into things when you least expected it. Bev’s skin crawls with it and she hates it and all she wants to do is run.

“Yeah, Patrick, I get it. I have a fucking anger problem.” Henry barks back. “Fuck off, I can do what I want, I don’t need you telling me what the fuck to do, Jesus Christ.” Bev forces herself to finally look and finds two black hole boys standing by the river, their backs turned to her. “It’s been two days, where the fuck is he?”

“Poor Bowers can’t get his fix.” Patrick simpers and leans up into his face. “I keep telling you, we just need to get out of Derry and I’ve got a guy-”

“I don’t want your guy, I want Gray.” Henry’s hand connects with Patrick’s shoulder and he nearly goes down with it, but there’s an ugly smile on his face and the dhampir can’t help but think the other boy almost liked it when Henry did that… He runs a hand over his face and hock a loud and ugly loogy into the nearby brush. “If he doesn’t show up tomorrow though, maybe…”

Patrick’s face isn’t made for smiling. His lips spread themselves wide across his thin face and it makes for an awkward and discomforting picture, like he’s got fish hooks in the corners of his mouth, pulling pulling pulling. Henry smiles back and his is like a jagged knife, flashing and dangerous in the midday light.

It hits her then. Richie had asked her about Henry’s name before he had apologized to her. Bill didn’t like him, there was an aura about him… She understands now as she watches him, that sense of wrongness about him.

Just who in the hell was Gray, anyways? They’re meandering away now and Bev blows out a thankful breath in response, finally realizes how just staying her has covered her in a fine sheet of sweat. These boys weren’t anything that she ought to care about though. Just two overgrown bullies with too much free time on her hands. At least she could tell Bill and everyone else to be on the lookout once she got home.

Home.

Was it really home without Ben? 

She wipes hastily at her eyes and finally makes her way to the river, swollen still with the rain that had come down from the heaven’s when Greta had taken Ben from them, from her. Her reflection grimaces back at her as she leans in, growing in clarity until finally her face breaches the water.

She holds her breath and watches the silt and sand roll by with little pieces of rocks. All she wants in that moment is to let the water take her somewhere. Anywhere but  _ here _ . Take me to Ben, she wills it, to wherever he’s waiting for me. Her lungs burn in her chest and still she waits there until the last possible second, throwing her head up with a desperate gasp.

The world is still the same outside. Still Derry, still haunted, still turning on and on and on.

Bev smooths her hair back from her face and runs the rest of the way home.

 

-

Richie still doesn’t know how to feel about this so called guardian angel of Bill’s.

Stan (yes, Stan, that just how it would be now until he left them, and even then he would be remembered as Stan as well) is watching them. He isn’t dipping his nose into any books, isn’t sorting any paper, isn’t doing anything but just watching them. It isn’t even a study, of sorts. It’s almost blank faced if not for the way his eyes track across the room. 

They go to Bill a lot.

They also go to Mike too.

Their eyes meet once and Stan stiffens before looking again.

Boy, what he would give for Eddie to be here right now…

Richie’s brain isn’t made for this stuff. He closes the book with a loud noise and causes everyone to look at him. “Hey so, question.” Richie points his finger at Stan then, getting comfortable in his armchair as he does. “Explain to me how everything works.”

“...What?” Stan hisses.

“Well no, legit.” Mike and Bill are both giving him pointed looks as well. He sets the book aside and stands, stretching his arms up. “Because yeah, your existence implies there’s a God. That’s like, your dad, for lack of better words. But then there’s magic too, so did he make that?”

Stanley sighs and stands, making his way to the center of the room. “No, he did not. The Universe did.”

Oh. Now they were getting into the juicy stuff. Bill’s interest is piqued and Mike’s slowly looking up, head tilting in question. “Don’t leave us hangin’, Staniel! C’mon!”

“I draw the line at Staniel. It’s Stan or Stanley, although Uriel is preferred, Richard.” Richie can almost see him fluffing his feathers up in annoyance. “Anyways, the Universe existed first. It’s beginnings are not something I can even start to explain, but I can explain how the rest came to be.” He folds his hands and begins to pace about the room. “The Universe simply was and then it willed many things into actuality. Purpose and power and life. Our Father came from that, and in turn he created angels, and we helped shape the world. Magic came later, much later, after the dinosaurs had been wiped from existence by the Fall of Lucifer. Angel kind waged war through the cosmos and Lucifer and his armies fell, pinned by Michael's spear, and all was lost for some time.”

A strange quiet has settled over them and they all lean in, listening. Richie can’t help but wonder if Eddie’s somewhere in this room, listening in as well. He’s almost tempted to call out to the other but that would be weird, right? He draws his legs up to his chest instead, putting his chin on top of his knees as he continues to listen to this mystical tale. 

“God created a second line of angels and human kind, Adam and Eve, and Lucifer came about to tempt them. This is where sin was introduced, and with sin came variance, and with variance came many things. This is where magic found its footing, because not all was suspended along belief. There was room for something more, something malleable and new. Magic brought with it the creation witches, beings that could channel its power and use it for good. But as you can assume, temptation lurked…”

“Jesus Christ…” Richie breathes out. 

Stan continues, probably ignoring his sacreligious slip. “Many good things came of this temptation, but in their creation awful things came about as well. That’s how the Otherworld was created. A place to keep you all safe, away from this rapidly changing world where you would be viewed as monsters.”

“Huh-hu-holy sh-shit.” Bill says after a moment. 

“There’s plenty more to this story, of course, but I don’t want to waste all of our time today.” Stan flips his curls out of his face and sighs. “The creation of the Otherworld was necessary, but because of it we opened yet another door for demon kind to slip through, and that’s how we find ourselves here. Magic is… a terrifying thing.” Stan’s eyes slide to Bill and in turn the human clenches his right hand. The same hand, Richie remembers, where the demon had bit him.

Blood magic.

Soul magic.

He shudders once and then shudders again, the second time due to a strange coldness falling over him. Wait… “Eddie!” He cheers suddenly. “Guys, Edds is here!” 

“That he is.” Stanley confirms as he steps closer. He waves his fingers about in the space to Richie’s right. “This one has always confused me…”

“What, the whole half here, half not thing?” Mike comes over then too and peers at the lack of body next to Richie. The werewolf can’t help but grin to himself some, knowing they were all touching right above Eddie’s head due to how damn short he was. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too.”

“Eddie’s just special, ya got that?” He wraps his arm around where he assumes Eddie’s waist should be. It’s so cold it almost hurts but he holds tight. There’s actually nothing to hold onto, which is kind of weird, but at this point he was committed. “Though I’m sure he’d be happy to be here right now, if we’re being honest with each other.”

The book he had been reading hits the ground with purpose and Richie howls with laughter in response.

“Yeah Edds, what else has got you riled up today?” He remembers how it had been to have the other boy in his arms. Nice and right, if that made sense. Like he belonged there somehow. What he would give to have that moment in their makeshift bed again, tangled up and edging into his dreams. “Meet our new friend, his name is Stanley.”

“It’s Uriel, actually.” The angel sighs. 

“He says that now, but don’t worry, Stan will eventually stick.” 

Bill covers his smirk with his hands and Mike shakes his head in amusement and it’s a nice little reprieve. Still, he can’t help but think about how they still needed to figure out how to get Ben back.

That Beverly still wasn’t home.

That he was this close to losing himself.

The cold suddenly leaves him and Stan’s head whipping towards the front door is the only indication of where Eddie has gone. “Wait, wh-” Richie starts.

The door slams open and in waltzes Beverly Marsh.

No one speaks or moves as the dhampir enters, covered in blood and dirt. Her face is the only clean thing about her, free of any makeup, green eyes staring them all down. “Nice to see you fuckers too.” She says after a beat. “...Gotta light, Chee?”

“Bitch!” He lunges at her, wrapping his arms around her tight. She rocks back before her own arms wrap back, burying her face against. “What the hell happened?!”

For a moment Bev stays just like that, her fingernails digging into the back of his shirt as she clings to him. How far they had come from their first meeting when they had been at each other’s throats. He couldn’t imagine a life without her now, her husky laugh and constant companionship. The same applied for Ben and Edds and Bill and Mike too.

And hey, maybe Stan if he played his cards right.

“Oh, you know…” She throws her shoulders up with a light laugh. “Needed some alone time, sort through all my thoughts and feelings, met some hunters.” Her voice is still so light and casual that Richie almost misses it. He’s midlaugh, still so thankful she’s just back and safe when it registers.

Hunters.

In Derry.

His eyes go wide behind his glasses as he pulls back to look down at her. “What?” 

“Hunters.” She laughs again except this time it’s terrified. 

Just in time for the shift.

Just in time to skin him alive.

The wolf in him needs to run but he grounds himself in that damn living room of Ben’s and forces himself to breathe normally. He can feel cold at his side once more and he can tell Eddie’s there, worrying and watching… Bill too, not knowing what in the god damn hell they were talking about. Do it for them, Tozier. 

Be brave for them.

“Okay.” He manages, drawing out the word for as long as he can. “You know what, we’ve been dealing with this demon, we can handle some hunters! I’m not worried!” He was. Oh God, was he ever. “You know what I am worried about, Ben. We need our witch back, right Bev?”

Bev takes the bait, nodding almost desperately. “Yes.” She breathes out. “I did some thinking and I-” Finally Bev notices Stanley, the one person who shouldn’t really be here but is now, whether they like it or not. She tilts her head at him and takes one step towards him. “...Who’s this?”

“This is Stan.” Mike says, causing the angel to stiffen. “Also known as Uriel, angel of the Lord.”

She blinks those pretty eyes of hers.“...I’m sorry what?”

Richie wraps an arm around her and brings her over to the armchair he had been in minutes before. “Sit down Marsh. We got a _lot_ to talk about.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

His siblings were going to be  _ so _ upset with him.

And yet Uriel could care less as he stepped out of Ben Hanscom’s house and out into midday Derry, buzzing and golden. Maybe it was because for the first time in his existence he felt a sense of belonging, of fitting in between slots of puzzle pieces that had been scattered aeons ago.

The only other time he had felt that was when he had first met Bill.

He had simply woken up one day when the world was still becoming itself, guided by firsts and fire light. He had waited and waited alongside thousands of others like him, crafted with the purpose to watch and protect. Guardians. That was their purpose. They left one by one as their fated souls were born into the world and for millenia Uriel waited.

And waited and waited and waited.

He never once doubted how long it took, or why he was made for this. There was no point in questioning it when he knew fully well that his Father’s plans were divine. His course was set, now it was just a matter of waiting for them to fully unfold.

And then it happened.

Bill Denbrough was born.

William Henry Denbrough had been born perfectly healthy without any kind of imperfections on the inside or out in a small hospital in Maine, that stutter of his still years to come. He had looked up at the world from the cradle of his mother’s arms with new blue eyes, squinched tight against the brightness of the fluorescent lights above head. He had seen Uriel then, somehow, someway, in the corner of the room and he had smiled.

Uriel had smiled back, unable to help himself, his purpose truly making itself known in his heart of hearts at that joyous sight. 

“M-m-my dad’s guh-gonna k-kill me.” The human boy whispers now. But it isn’t necessarily miserable. There’s a hint of pride there, hidden away in the rough cut of his voice. “H-He went off on muh-muh-me this muh-morning.” He huffs out to Richie.

“I hope you told him to get bent.” The werewolf snorts in response, yelping when Beverly’s hand smacks against the back of his head. “OW!” He howls, true to his canine form.

“They’re understandably upset, idiot!” Bev snaps. Her anger hurries itself away before turning itself into something much kinder and sympathetic when she looks at Bill.  “Bill, they mean well, they just...” She frowns. Pauses. Presses her fangs into her bottom lip as she swallows up a sigh.

The moment becomes awkward without any kind of warning. Bill looks away and it’s obvious that  _ something _ caused Bev to falter, becoming painfully quiet herself. When Uriel looks at Richie and Mike he finds the two sharing a look. It was the kind of look that children who grew up loved and cherished give one another when talk of parents turns odd. Confusion, pity, the need to say something but what? What would make up for years of neglect and frustration, of miscommunication and degrees of abuse that they couldn’t even begin to understand?

No one speaks, no one moves. He takes a deep breath and jumps right in. No better time than the present.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve never met my father! That’s a privilege only the first sphere is allowed, well... that and the archangels.” Out of everyone only Mike’s face shows some kind of recognition at his words, prompting Uriel to continue. “The hierarchy of angels is not one that you can climb, of course. It is simply how He sees us fit. That being said, I will never get the chance to meet Him, but that’s fine.” He had made peace with that. That was simply his place, his purpose… Stories of their Father were few and far between, but you only had to look to see what amazing things He had crafted to know that He was good.

And really, what more could you ask for?

They all stare at him for a moment before Richie blows out a low whistle under his breath. Everyone looks at him in pointed disapproval and Richie pulls a face in response. “Alright, alright, I get it. Beep beep and all that jazz.” He grumbles under his breath. “Can we get this over with?”

_ This _ meaning the way he and Bill and Richie were on one side, Beverly and Mike on the other. They were splitting themselves up more than they already had managed since this all began. Beverly and Mike were going to take the rusting truck now parked in the driveway to the nearest witch’s home with a portal, intending to take it to Toronto to save Ben. He and Richie and Bill were staying behind to explore the sewers, to keep the beast at bay when it finally ripped its way out of the werewolf, to distract the hunters long enough if need be. 

His siblings were really,  _ really _ going to be upset with him.

They weren’t supposed to interfere beyond their means, especially  _ his _ kind. Guardians were there to make sure things went accordingly to their Father’s plan. Certain someone’s lived for some time and then they died after leaving their mark on the world. If anything disrupted that the Universe would revolt, so guardian angels were there to ensure that it all went accordingly. That was Stan’s divine purpose. To make sure Bill lived until he was much, much older and made an impact on the world while he did.

The river had been the first time he had intervened. That had been an acceptable interference, the kind that he was expected to perform, but everything else since that he had dared to do had been of his own volition, of his own free will...

They would be very,  _ very _ upset indeed.

He shifts his unseen wings and watches the way that Bev leans into Richie, bringing her arms around his shoulders with a pleased smile. “Say you’ll miss me.” She whispers against the side of his face. He shakes his head stubbornly in response but the moment she begins to drift away from him he pulls her back in, clinging to her almost. 

“Stay safe, Marsh.” Uriel hears the other boy whisper back fiercely. 

As for Mike, the phoenix is standing awkwardly off to the side, looking unsure of himself as he clings to the folder pressed against his chest. There were papers on Derry and his family in there that he hoped to find some kind of solace and answers in, apparently, and maybe something for them to use as well once they made their way back to them. Their eyes lock and something strange flares inside him at the action. 

“Are you scared?” He says before he can help himself. Mike’s head snaps in his direction and he offers up an awkward chuckle in response.

“I ain’t ever been outside of the state, much less the country, Stan.” He likes it when Mike says his other name. Likes it when Bill says it too. The red headed boy picks up on the conversation, drifting in closer to the two of them. “There’s a whole world out there and I’ve only read about it in books… I don’t know how it’s gonna hold up.”

“B-Buh-Better than you c-could imagine.” Bill says encouragingly. “W-wuh-we went to Niagara once, n-nuh-never Toronto though…” Something hopeful comes about him, causing his shoulders to raise and eyes to brighten. “M-maybe after... We can all guh-go.”

“Canada trip? Oh hell yeah, I’m down.” Richie bounds over to them, the wolf in him perked and eager. “I call shotgun. Unless we fly, because then I just object.” He glances over at Uriel and then Mike. “No offense to our winged friends, of course.”

He looks at Mike and Mike looks at him with an amused shake of his head. “I think this is where I’m supposed to say beep beep?” Uriel inquires, causing all sorts of nodding approval and noises to issue in response. “Beep beep, Richie.” He laughs then, half surprise and half amusement. He wasn’t expecting it to sound so  _ right _ leaving him and yet it was so natural, the cadence already set as each syllable formed on his lips and tongue. 

Richie throws his head back with a laugh, his glasses flying off with it. “Damn, you’re already fitting in, Stan! I’m impressed. It didn’t take a life or death situation either, so bonus points.” He leans down and begins to feel around for his glasses, grinning blindly when Bill presses them into his seeking hands. “And Bev didn’t even have to flirt with you either! Triple bonus!”

“Oh shut up, Richard.” She flips him off while he still can’t see it. “Listen, I’d love to stand around and banter all day, but we’ve got a schedule to keep.” Her lips part as she runs her tongue over her fangs, the light glinting off them. “...We’ve made Ben wait long enough.”

That’s sobering enough for them all to stop smiling as much. “Godspeed.” Stan breaks the silence as gently as he can. You had to face reality eventually and they were all but plunging into it at this point.

Time, it seemed, would not wait for them any longer.

“To you as well, Uriel.” Beverly, it seems, was one of the few people who actually respects his given name. She smiles at him and he was shaken by how exquisite she was in the late afternoon sun. She would age given the human side of her, but it would be slow and it would be gracious to her fine skin and wide eyes. Mike as well, he realized, and Richie too. They would live long lives if they played their cards right, Mike’s own time and time again as the flame took him at his weakest point only to birth him again, but then there was Ben and Bill.

They would die one day, much sooner than any of their friends.

“We’re going to bring Ben home.” She says in a much more determined voice, grabbing their attention. “And we’ll kill that demon and we’ll get Georgie and Eddie back too, and then we can all go to Toronto together before the summer ends. How’s that sound, Billy?”

They turn to the human and find tears in his eyes, his fingers of his right hand pressed up against his bottom lip. “...S’puh-puh-perfect Bev.” The words choke out of him, husky and rough. “...I d-don’t know wuh-what I did without you guh-guys.” The first tear slips out and then another and Uriel’s never seen something so beautiful before like this crying, smiling boy before him.

His, he remembers, this boy is his.

“Whatever it was, I’m sure it was boring.” Richie punches his arm with the kind of grin that prompts others to grin right back, the last of his tears fading. “But then again, you had George and that kid is like… the best. So it couldn’t have been that terrible, right?”

Bill swipes a hand over his flushed face, truly smiling now despite himself, despite everything that had happened and was yet to occur. “R-right.” He says, hiding his eyes for a moment before letting his hands fall to his sides.

None of them make any kind of move to leave, to break apart this circle that they managed to create without even trying to. There were moments like this that Uriel had witnessed between the lot of them, where they somehow became  _ more _ than themselves. They became a concept, something that could not be named and only seen as they cut down whatever stood in their way. It was something beyond them, something that the Universe had in store for them.

And somehow he was now a part of it too, wasn’t he?

Mike shifts back on his heels and finally causes whatever had settled over them to waver and dissipate. “We best get going now. Remember what I said about Church.” He points a finger at their side of the group. He looks past them as he tuts his tongue disapprovingly,  getting them all turn to see her staring right back in the window with the rest of the Cats. Uncanny, really, Uriel thinks with a slight shudder. They had always said that familiars had a feral knowledge of the universe, deeper running than most others, but still… she seemed to know so much. Too much almost. Why? How? Questions for later, for when they had their witch back and time on their hands. “Don’t let her boss you around.” Mike sighs, planting himself firmly at the other side of the spectrum where there’s only room for annoyance and narrow eyed judgement at any and all cat shenanigans.

Richie gives a great guffaw of a laugh. “Yeah well, that’s easier said than done. She’s got a serious attitude problem, Mikey.”

“Yeah well,” Mike counters. “Ben’s the one who gave her a voice, so when we bring him back talk to him about it.” His pointed finger finds it way to Bill, forcing the human to focus. “Don’t let him eat my cat, Bill. I mean it now.” It’s very obvious who the ‘he’ in question is and yet Richie doesn’t even blink, staring blankly at them with no kind of recognition whatsoever. That’s the last of it, nothing else to be said except good byes, except Mike’s clearly rooted in place, something keeping him there. Doubt, perhaps. Or fear. 

Uriel does his best to soothe it. “It’s okay, Michael. No need to fear. Focus on your mission and we’ll focus on ours.” A day in the sewers of Derry while Eddie watched after the house. His first day in this world of humans and this is what they had him doing. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they? “I believe in us. All of us.” Uriel sees it leave Mike, shoulders dropping, brow smoothing, fists unclenching. He draws in a deep breath and nods, thankful and slow, and Uriel returns the action. 

Bev pulls the keys out of her pocket and jangles them about. “Good pep talk, now let’s go, yeah?” Mike swallows and nods, following Bev to the truck. “Stay safe.” She echoes Richie’s earlier words to them, looking determined. “Stay alive. I’ll be pissed if any of you die.”

“God, she has a way with words, doesn’t she?” Richie says as they finally pull out of the driveway, Bev honking the horn at them on the way out. “Hanscom’s fucking nuts, I tell ya, but hey… when you love someone, you love someone.” He shoves his messy hair back from his face and lets out a loud, pained groan, looking about as excited as Bill did when it came to his first day of school during his younger years. “I suppose we’re making our way to the sewers now, yes? Y’know, this is a terrible induction to the Losers, Bill. Just God awful, really.”

“Wuh-we all have t-tuh-to start somewhere, Ruh-Rich.” Bill says, still gazing after the long gone truck, his body stretching towards it almost. He yearned for escape, for a means to leave Derry and never come back, Stan knew. That’s what drove his shoulders to hunch and spine to curve as he wrote page after page of unfinished stories late into the night at the desk in his dorm, hoping to finally make something that would change it all, that would be worth praise and recognition. Uriel had been there for it all too, every rip of paper torn from the notebook, every frantic key tapped out, every coffee cup drained and frustrated tear shed.

Seen it all, heard it all, and hated it all too. Bill was much too hard on himself, a trait gifted to him by his father, but he still had that tender heart of his. It made for some messy moments, all of which would go away if he just believed in himself.

It was slow progress, but Uriel was seeing it more and more with each passing day.

Uriel dares to touch his shoulder in the now, causing Bill to startle some before he turns with raised eyebrows and surprise written all across his face. “They’ll be fine.” Uriel murmurs, hoping to comfort the human boy. He had spent years studying human emotion and yet it was so hard to grasp at times, impossibly personal and indescribable, so beyond him. Bill chuffs a laugh and rolls his shoulders, pressing the one Uriel was touching up and into his hand. He can feel the muscle pull, the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the way his breath hitches just so when he notices Uriel’s still touching him, staring…

“Yeah.” Bill’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Y-you’re right.”

Something shrill goes off and it takes a moment for Uriel to realize it’s Bill’s phone of all things. He jerks away and shoves his hand into his pocket, quickly sliding his finger across the front of it before tucking it away. “Don’t tell me.” Richie says from his spot on the curb, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “That was your pops.”  
“Y-yeah…” His throat bobs again for completely different reasons. Bill grits his teeth and stomps down the driveway to the street, throwing a determined glare over his shoulder. “Luh-luh-let’s go.” 

And so they do.

Derry’s streets are sunbleached and weeds sprout up between the sidewalk cracks. It’s endearing, in a way, a tired town that didn’t know what to do with itself. Once again Uriel can’t help but think that this was the last place he would suspect a demon to take interest in. What was there to be had here? There were much worse places to take root in. Yet they were here, and so was It.

The universe, it seemed, knew much more than any of them did.

Even more than his Father...

Richie jogs ahead of them before turning to face them, walking backwards, that cigarette now lit and hanging precariously off his bottom lip. “Hullo and welcome.” He says in a drawling voice as he spreads his arms out wide. “I’ll be your tour guide today on this fine, sunshiney day. Gotta say, these groups keep getting smaller and smaller. It’s a shame. A damn shame! No one cares about history and ya know what they say.” Richie closes his hand into a fist and hold it inches from Bill’s face, cocking his brow just so. “You win a prize if you know the answer, kid.” Richie adds, sotto voce. 

Bill strokes his chin dramatically, making a big show of it, hmm-ing and ahh-ing to himself in thought. Finally he raises a finger at Richie, waggling it just so. “Th-thu-those who duh-do not learn fruh-from history are d-d-doomed to r-ruh-repeat it?” He offers, causing the werewolf to issue a loud “DING DING DING!” in response. “W-wow, kuh-college really d-does pay off.” Bill smirks in a satisfied way “W-What’s the puh-prize, Rich?”

Richie draws his hands into his chest, batting his lashes behind his oversized glasses. “My endless love and affection, Billy Boy.” Bill gives Uriel an unimpressed look which the angel can’t help but return. “Fine, and lunch is on me when we finally eat, I guess. Do you… do you eat, Stan?” The werewolf asks, scrunching up his nose and squinting as he does.

He takes back what he thought earlier. He hates that name. Hated it worse that it was growing on him somehow. “I _ can _ . Does that answer your question, Richard?” He snipes in response. The werewolf squints more, to the point where Uriel’s sure he’s just gone and closed his eyes before he makes a face as ugly as sin. Uriel’s wings stiffen behind him, not visible to the two, before he begins to splutter. “Don’t make that face! Why are you making that awful face!?”

“Because I just realized you’re totally the type to order just water and a salad, that’s why.” Richie shakes his head in obvious disapproval. And what’s so wrong with water and salad? Nothing, he wants to yell, but something in him knows that Richie will use it against him. Better to stay quiet and watch, wait. He was quite good at that, after all. “I take back my earlier praises. I can’t believe we’ve got a straight edge in our midst. Bill, when did we let the Loser’s Club get so lame, anyways?”

“Oh buh-beep beep, Rich! Don’t b-b-be a juh-jerk.” Stan sees it then, the perfect opportunity for Richie’s just deserts. There was someone with their back to them at the upcoming intersection, barking down his phone. Tall, imposing, clearly not the type to put up with bullshit. Bill sees it too, the only indication in the way his nostrils flare before the right corner of his mouth twitches up in a mischievous way. They both stay quiet without looking at each other, without even saying a damn thing, letting it happen as it should.

It’s perfect until it  _ isn’t. _

“What?! I’m just telling the tru-” Richie’s back hits first and he stumbles, his equilibrium suddenly lost. The other man nearly falls forward catching himself just in time, planting his heels into the sidewalk. Uriel’s already tipping his head back to laugh in disbelief when the latter half happens, the not so perfect part. 

Maybe it’s because he’s gone and lost his center of balance, or maybe it’s because he’s an unlucky and the Universe is moving against him, but suddenly the stranger’s grip slips and he fumbles his phone in such a way where he can’t even to attempt to recover it.

Uriel catches Bill’s eye and finds the human staring in silent horror as it begins it’s fatal descent to the ground below. It doesn’t matter anyways because the human wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to make a difference, but he  _ can _ . Uriel’s wings rustle in the wind as he shoots forward, concrete biting into the bottom of his chin as he makes contact. He feels it try to claw its way through the knees of his pants, his shirt, his palms, eager to rip him up even further, but he doesn’t falter. Close, so close! He feels his fingers close around the smooth glass of the phone and his relief is immediate, making the all scrapes and pain all worth it at the realization he did actually did it.

“...Your phone.” He gasps out once it’s all done and over with. The man looks down at him and then at Richie before he shoves at the werewolf, so sudden and violent that Stan can’t quite believe he actually saw it happen. It’s only when Richie’s teetered and fallen to the ground in a useless heap of limbs, his glasses knocked off the to side, that Stan makes sense of the sudden violence.

“H-Hey!” Bill thunders as he stomps forward. “It w-wuh-was an ack-ack-accident!” 

“Get the shit out of your mouth, retard!” The man snarls and something in his face, his voice, his posture causes Bill to stumble away from him, his momentary bravery gone in an instant. “And watch where you’re fuckin’ goin!” He screams at Richie. Stan’s grip tightens on the phone when those wild eyes land on him, feeling the way it’s eager to give and break. “Give me my shit, faggot.”

There’s a lot of things that he ought to do but this isn’t a time for oughts, it’s a time for teaching lessons. Uriel’s lip curls as he stands, the end of his chin still smarting from where it hit the concrete, not once breaking eye contact with the son of a bitch. “Go get it yourself, asshole.” He hisses.

He chucks it, hard. It goes flying into someone’s yard down the street, skidding across the green grass. Risky, stupid, completely unnecessary. All sorts of words go through his head after the fact but Uriel stands tall and stares the other man down. “Well?” The angel challenges. “Are you just going to keep standing there all day? Because that’s how this all started in the first place.”

There’s darkness in that man’s eyes. There was a little bit in just about everything that existed. It was that free will, after all, the means to choose, but his was a terrifying amount, eating away at his iris. Is that what Bill had seen, causing him to skitter away to Richie’s side, or had it been something else? The man finally hocks a loogie right on top of Uriel’s shoe and stalks away, seething under his breath as he does.

“Father, give me strength.” Stan says to himself before rushing over to Richie and Bill. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t want to stick around long enough for that bastard to come back, but he doesn’t want to push them either.  

“My wrist is a little fucked and I need my glasses, but otherwise I’m peachy keen.” Richie manages toothily, squinting past Stan blindly, hissing when he finds the sun. “Christ, what the fuck was his damage anyways?”

“...Buh-Bowers.” Bill spit out weakly, surprising both of them. “Thu-that’s He-Henry Bowers d-dad.”

Which was very bad news indeed.

-

 

“I officially hate this town.”

Derry was boring. The sign leading in had claimed that there was a population of a thousand but that had to be old news. Audra had already seen so many familiar faces and it was clear they had seen hers as well, their confusion at her and Kay’s presence morphing into careful consideration (at least it wasn’t wariness, she’d take what she could get at this point.) It was content with this fact as well, nothing new in sight. The movies were months old at this point, the bookstores didn’t have any recent best sellers, and there wasn’t a gaudy fad restaurant for miles. Sushi, it seemed, was the most daring the folk of Derry would go.

“Someone just wants a poke bowl and some bubble tea, doesn’t she?” Kay teases at her side, looking delighted and enamored in that soft way of hers. “I personally think it’s quaint!”  
“Door County is quaint, Kay. Traverse City is quaint! Hell, let’s get fictional! Stars Hollow is quaint! This is just backwash.” It doesn’t help that she’s still thinking of every awful thing that’s happened since they ended up here in the first place. That way Tom Rogan had smiled at her… the flash of the vampire’s teeth in the dark... They needed a vacation after this, Audra decides. A nice vacation somewhere hot where no one spoke a lick of English and all they needed to do was make their way down to the beach each morning to camp out at the perfect spot. 

No vampires, no demons, no assholes, nothing but Kay’s perfect smile and infinite kisses as the sun made its way across the sky. They just had to get down to the bottom of this and it wouldn’t just be some fantasy, it’d be a reality.

“Okay, c’mon now. No more negativity. We’re going to focus on the positives. It’s a brand new day and we have the opportunity to explore this whole town. We’re bound to find something.” Kay takes her hand and it’s a little easier to relax when they’re like this. Audra reaches up with her free hand, sliding her aviators down her face to stare out at the world behind their dark tint. 

Okay Derry, it’s on.

They pass by a pharmacy and by the place that Kay had gone and ordered Chinese from (that being the only thing Audra really liked about this place so far, it seemed.) There were all sorts of mom and pop stores too lining the streets, more kitschy antique stores than actual functioning businesses. And yet everyone one here walked along the streets happily, loaded up with grocery bags and children in hand, on top of bikes and inside cars. It was it’s own little world, it seemed. 

“I keep thinking about it.” Kay says, interrupting Audra’s casual viewing. They’re at some park now, a span of green that’s lush and picturesque. She hears a dog bark in the distance and screaming laughter follows, causing her head to whip around until she finds a group of children at a rainbow colored roundabout, whipping each other about faster and faster until they blur into nothingness.

“What?” Audra finally rasps out. It felt like her skin was crawling, like everything was suddenly wrong despite being so right. She gripped to Kay’s hand harder but her girlfriend didn’t even notice, her brow furrowing for completely different reasons. 

What the hell was happening?

“About… this place. It keeps ringing bells, but they’re distant in the back of my mind.” She can hear the swings now too, louder and louder as they creak in the background. Someone falls and begins to cry and Audra has to squeeze her eyes shut against the too bright sun before she screams.

She opens them again and Kay isn’t there.

It’s the same park but it  _ isn’t _ . There’s something about it that’s just a little bit off. The grass isn’t as green, the playground equipment is a bit more worn looking, older and sharper now that she realizes it. There’s an older couple in the distance now as well, a man that’s balding and a woman with beautiful red hair falling down her back, a real monster of a bicycle collapsed in the grass next to them, shining quicksilver in the sun. “What happens when we leave here?” She says to him, sounding like they were mere inches away instead of where they really were. “Am I going to forget all of this? Are you?”

“That’s what happened the first time. It all just went away, like a bad dream.” He says in a comforting voice. She shakes her head though and pushes at his arm, her nails bitten down the quick, age spots showing on the back of her hand. “What’s wrong?” He says, a bit more considerate and worried sounding.

The woman laughs, brittle and desperate, and a cloud passes over them in such a way that all they are is shadows under it. “It bled out though, into your writing and dreams. I saw things Bill when It took me. I saw myself but different, like some kind of fun house mirror. She was younger, and she had these eyes… The kind that could tear you to shreds and lay you to waste.” The mysterious woman bows her head and gives a choked laugh. “She was the kind of girl I always wanted to be outside of the roles I played. Tough, hard, a rebel. The kind that doesn’t take shit and dished it out even better. The kind that could have taken on that monster head on and came out on top. There were other versions too, younger and older…”

“Did you see anything else? A turtle?” His voice becomes tinged with desperation as he clings back. “It took me there and I swear I saw the turtle wasting away, but maybe it was a trick!” Turtle? What is he talking about? None of this makes any kind of sense and yet those words felt familiar to her, just like how that girl did the night before. 

Just like Kay was talking about, distant ringing bells, a reminder.

An echo.

“I-I don’t know what I saw. Those lights Bill. Those awful lights.” The woman begins to weep openly. “I lost myself in them, and then… then you brought me back. I didn’t think it was possible. They told me to follow them, but something else told me to wait.” They kiss and Audra looks away because it’s so intimate, so tender… 

And then the next words jolt her, sending her spiraling back into the reality where she belonged. The man cups the woman’s face and tilts it just so, making the side of her face visible.

That’s her.

Except it’s not.

( _ “I saw myself but different.” _ )

“It’s okay, Audra.” He whispers to her, to both of them? She and her and her and him and everything, everything... “It’s okay now.”

“Audra? Audra? Audra!”

When had she fallen to the ground? Kay’s on her knees next to her, helping her up as she pushes up on her elbows. There’s people gathering around them, trying to see what happened. “I’m fine.” She forces out between her gritted teeth. “Not here.” She adds in a much softer voice when Kay begins to object, hoping her girlfriend will pick up on it.

Kay perks and gives a quick nod, ever smart and ever quick. “Don’t mind us!” Kay says jovially, playing it off wonderfully. “Just a little accident is all! Excuse us folks.” A few people murmur but no one really chases after them and for that Audra’s grateful. Stay far, far away from me. Don’t look at me, don’t touch me. Her skin is still crawling from the experience and she feels a million miles away from her body, nearly disconnected, Kay’s touch the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. 

They make their way over to some park bench, still too close for comfort but it’ll have to do. “Baby, what happened?” Kay whispers as she touches the crown of her head, skimming her fingers down the back of her head all the way to the nape of her neck. What had happened? She hates going back into that moment but she has to study it and make sense of it. She clings to logic and reason then because it’s all she has at this point.

“I think the demon is playing tricks on us.” Audra spits out word by word.

Kay blinks, apparently astounded. “Wha-” She starts, but Audra barrels along.

“That dhampir knowing you? And just now I-I saw myself, but it wasn’t me. She was older and with some man.” The thought causes her stomach to revolt. Being with anyone but Kay, with a man nonetheless… No, no way. Except, that hadn’t been her, that had been another her. “It’s using our memories against us, warping reality!” It’s perfectly plausible giving how powerful it supposedly was! Possible and probable and plausible indeed.

So why is Kay looking at her like that?

“...Do you… Do you not believe me?” Audra breathes out harshly. Maybe  _ this _ was still the demon too. Maybe she was still trapped inside that nightmare state from before, an impossible lock. She has holy water in a flask at her hip, salt stopped and vialed in another. She could test the theory as quick as that.

But then how did you explain yourself it that wasn’t the case, Audra?

“Yes? No? I don’t… I don’t know how we can know that for sure.” Kay grips her forearms, her fingers digging in just enough to keep Audra here in this moment with her. “I’m scared. This is so, so scary. We’ve never dealt with anything like this before but I know that I can do anything with you by my side.” Her grip loosens as she touches their foreheads together. “Trust me like I trust you, Audra. Please.”

Her doubts linger but she doesn’t want Kay to look at her like that anymore, like damaged goods, like something in need of repair. She draws in a sharp breath before managing a tight nod, causing their noses to bump against one another. A laugh bubbles out of Kay at the action and it’s like music to Audra’s ear, making it all too easy to close the distance between them to press their lips together softly.

“I know… I know you don’t like any of this, so we just need to get this done and over with as quickly as possible. If anyone can do it, it’s us.” Kay says against her lips, lip gloss sticky sweet against Audra’s mouth. “We just need to get through this. Together.”

Together.

She just needs a few more minutes like this. The two of them pressed up together, breaths mingling as she finds her center once more. “Okay. We should… should probably get going. Lunch?” The last word leaves her in a weak and hopeful rush. 

Kay kisses her one more time for good measure. “It’s on me.” Which is funny because they don’t pay a dime for any of their food but Audra lets Kay wink and giggle and skip along her merry way towards the nearest diner like it’s a real date and her treat. She makes sure not to linger either, wanting to stay close and not get lost in that weird state again.

A dreaming state, a damning state, an impossible state that she never wanted to fall into again.

Fate, it seemed, had different ideas.

Kay props the door open for Audra with a playful waggle of her eyebrows and she can’t help but smile at the other girl. “We’re the worst at this, Kay-Kay.” She whispers in a conspiratorial voice. “If anyone asks, I’m going to blame you.”

“You fainted! The obvious response was to make sure that you were properly fed and hydrated. I was just doing my duty, clearly!” Kay nudges her side as they approach the host, a sweet young thing done up in an outfit that looked like it came straight out of the 50s. It was cute in a way, Audra had to admit. “Hi, table for two, we’re easy, give us whatever you’ve got.” Her girlfriend gabs easily as she loops their arms together. The girl smiles at them and gestures for them to follow her. At least there’s that, Audra thinks, at least Derry doesn’t seem  _ that _ homophobic.

It was already doing better than a lot of places they had been to in the past.

They’re seated in a booth and immediately Kay is pulling her in on her side facing towards the door. “You know me so well.” Audra hums happily as their arms press up against each other. “Did you want me to check exits or are you on it?”

Kay gapes at her before shooting her a grin. “Implying you haven’t already! Who are you, what have you done with my girlfriend!?”

“What did you say before, dehydration? Let’s go with that.” Audra had, actually, but she wasn’t going to comment on the fact. Instead she focused now on taking inventory on everyone inside the diner, skipping over the few people she had seen beforehand, not really interested in them. It was the new faces, the unknown that needed to be defined so she can finally settle down. “You wanna play I Spy?”

“Ooh, yes please.” This was also a given when they were somewhere new. A way to split the room into empty threats and potential ones, and also probably one of the most amusing ways to pass the time while putting a spin on people watching. Kay leans forward and rounds her eyes dramatically, taking in a full stock of the room. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna start. I spy with my little eye… something that is gaudy!”

Gaudy? Audra has to physically hold herself back from commenting with “the diner”, instead letting her eyes trail along it’s walls. Gaudy, gaudy, gaudy… “Oh Lord.” She sees it then.

Sees him.

“Hawaiian shirt?” Audra whispers in a stage voice. Kay’s whole face lights up in response and she gives a conspiratorial nod. How right her girlfriend was. It’s a mess of palm fronds and near neon colors, and against his pasty skin it was simultaneously a nightmare and the perfect fashion statement. He was leaned over his table, elbows up on it, ignoring the personal space of his two other friends. A queer looking boy with sharp eyes and curling hair and another earnest looking one with a shock of auburn hair and eyes like…

Like eyes she knew in another world.

Her heart thunders in her chest but she stays quiet, pressing her teeth into her tongue until it hurts, until she’s sure they’ll break through and her mouth will be suddenly filled with blood and a useless tongue and a million words she’d never be able to speak into existence anymore. Still, she stays that way until the need to scream his name passes.

Bill, her heart still insists because it knows. Bill Bill Bill.

“What an odd looking group.” Kay hums. What was Bill Denbrough doing here, looking simultaneously the same and different from his other self? And who were these other two boys he was with?

Why was the one with the curled hair and knife sharp features staring at her like that?

Maybe they could have gone back, back to the before everything changed, if Audra hadn’t frozen up like she had, her eyes never once leaving Bill. There had been a weight to her stare and it’s clear now that it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Now they were on the edge of the moment, tipping forward into the strangeness of it all. 

Bill isn’t actually the one to notice it at first. It’s the one in the Hawaiian shirt. He turns in his seat and Audra’s further astounded by the glasses on his face, the way his eyes are magnified by them. He lips tilt in a way that can only be described as ‘sleazy’ but there wasn’t anything degrading about that look. It’s funny, in a way, like he was putting on an act. 

Nothing like Tom whatsoever.

“Ladies~” He calls over and now Bill’s looking up too and Audra can’t do this right now. She grabs Kay by the shoulders and kisses her, fast and hard, because it’s the only thing she can do in that moment. It’s either that or fight and something tells her that that wouldn’t be a smart idea.  So kissing it is, and kissing was never a bad idea when it came to Kay, it was just normally a bit more expected and a lot less violent than this.

And usually not for the sake of distraction, either.

“Oh.” Kay exclaims into her mouth and Audra has to bite back the desperate hyena cackle that’s tempted to crawl out of her. “Audra.” She says a beat later, laughing now.

She wishes she had waited until food was here so she could distract herself further but all she can do now is kiss Kay like her life depends on it. Until she’s got no air left inside her and has to pull back. By then everyone is watching them, a few throwing disapproving looks, a few others with raised brows of approval. As for the people she actually cares about…

They’re all wide eyed and in a state of disbelief.

Maybe kissing had been a bad idea after all.

“What in the hell was that?” Kay whispered. “Is something wrong?”

Her girlfriend probably thought she was going off the deep end at this point. “What, I can’t just… kiss my girlfriend?” Audra manages tightly. Hawaiian shirt recovers first, shaking his head out until his curls whip around his face. “Don’t tell me I need some kind of reason now.” 

Kay’s eyes narrowed. “No, but-”

“Y’know, I was about to say something awful but I don’t want to be a gross piece of shit, so I won’t.” The black haired boy calls over from his table, surprising both of them. “But if you wanna hear it, I promise it’ll make you laugh!”

“R-Richie, no.” Bill groaned, a perfect mirror to Audra’s growing dread.

No no no. This was not how this was supposed to happen. Kay’s leaning forward though, right brow jumping in challenge, bringing them fully into the conversation. “Hit me with it, Rico Suave.” She grins, the final nail in the coffin.

“RICO SUAVE!” He shrieks in delight, bringing his hand down hard enough to cause the salt and pepper shakers to rattle. Bill cringes and their other friend makes a cross face, not even trying to hide it. “Fellas, that’s my new nickname, no more ‘Chee bullshit, got it? I’m getting off topic though. Since you’re so curious-!” Were they actually doing this? With half a restaurant between them and a growing number of annoyed patrons watching and listening to it all?

Apparently yes, they were. “I was gonna say ‘DINNER AND A SHOW!’ but I realized that like, that’s like, gross and misogynistic.” The other boy snorted, giving Bill a side eyed look of disapproval. “And kind of sexualizing, so I didn’t.”

“But you just did.” The unnamed boy said in a no-nonsense kind of voice.

Richie’s gaze turned stony as he leaned down into his personal space. “Fuck off, Stan. It’s a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.” Stan muttered.

“Well I thought it was fuckin’ hilarious!” Kay vouched.

“T-thu-thu-this is a f-fuh-family restaurant, guh-guys.” Bill moaned.

“Holy shit.” Audra whispered under her breath in shock. 

And with that, their food came.

Audra took that as their cue. “Well this has been… interesting, to say the least. But you can see my girlfriend and I now have our food, so.” So what, Audra? “Nice… meeting you all.” It had not been nice, nor had it been necessary, but it is what it is she supposes. Besides, there’s a grilled chicken sandwich and a plate full of piping hot fries calling her name and she’s suddenly ravenous.

Kay’s strawberry milkshake goes untouched, her girlfriend simply trading incredulous glances between her and that little group, who Audra knows is staring right back. “Baby, please, I just wanna get out of here.” Audra mumbles around a mouthful of lettuce and chicken. 

“I don’t think that’s happening any time soon.” Kay whispered under her breath. Audra’s head came up from her plate, fries dangling from her mouth, the beginnings of a loud and unforgiving “WHAT?” forming in her full of food mouth. 

Kay points and Audra already knows without looking.

Bill Denbrough’s standing at the head of the table.

“H-hi.” He starts. “...Do I… Do I nuh-know you?”

Fuck.

-

Had it really been five months since she had last been here?

Bev hopped out from the passenger side and onto the gravel driveway, looking this way and that. The engine cut short and soon Mike was joining her, stretching his long arms up above his head.

They had spent the majority of the ride getting to know one another, filling the silence and the miles with all sorts of facts. They had both avoided talking about family, and that had just fine for the both of them. Besides, she knew now that Mike was a sure shot with a BB gun, and he knew about strange talent of knowing how to read sheet music despite not knowing how to play any instruments. 

“So, we just go and knock, or what?” Mike said in a soft voice, nearly a whisper.

“Give it a second.” It had been like this last time too. It was like the air around them was holding it’s breath, waiting for a signal…

The door blew outwars and there stood a woman of formidable size and power in it’s frame. “You’re back.” She spat as her house bowed down behind her, at the ready to protect it’s witch. “Without the werewolf, or Hascom’s whelp either.” 

Bev felt her lip curl on Ben’s behalf but Mike was at the ready, touching her shoulder and placing himself first. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the change…” He started.

“Yes.” She smiled in a gruesome way, revealing red, red gums. “They finally were able to get him, weren’t they? The crows have told me, and the rats too.” There was a rustling sound from a nearby weeping willow, causing Bev to startle when she placed just how many crows and ravens sat among it’s hanging boughs. Hundreds. It had to be hundreds of them! “And now you’ve come to use my portal, yes?”

There was no point in lying, but they hadn’t thought it through either. Bev resists the urge to wipe at the sweat dotting her brow, pressing her nails into the flesh of her palm instead, letting the pain ground her. “Yes.” She finally manages, not even looking at Mike, never once looking away from the other woman. “Yes we have.”

“And why would I let you do that?” The witch heaves a long and heavy sigh. “Become complicit in your futile devices, your half thought out plans, your meaningless endeavors? Place a strike upon my name and a mark upon my brow for your sake, and for Benjamin Hanscom of all people? Who was the very reason for my failed magic in the first place?” She gives a little laugh, rolling her eyes. “No, children. I must say no.”

Her nails bite deeper into her palm, finally breaking the skin. “You don’t understand.” Bev shrugs out of Mike’s hold, stepping closer, needing to make the point. “We need him!”

The witch leans against her doorway, looking unimpressed. “Don’t speak lies, girl, especially to an emissary and wordsmith of the Universe. All we  _ know _ is words.” She sniffs before staring Beverly down. “It is you who needs him. Perhaps your little group of friends too, but you know the truth of the matter. It is  _ you _ who needs  _ him _ .” 

She’s right, but she’s wrong too. Bev forces herself to unclench each finger until her hands are spread out wide, equal parts complicit and desperate. “Oh.” The witch cuts her off before she can evenbeing, hugging her arms around herself. “To be in love! Isn’t it just awful?”

The witch smiles and all Bev can see now is blood. Blood on her teeth and tongue, spilling down her lips to the front of her dress. Dress? When had she put on a dress? Wedding white and pristine, now suddenly red?

When had she become her?

“Bev!”

The witch is gone.

“Bev!!!”

Mike’s gripping her shoulders, shaking her some. Bev blinks before settling among the real world once more, her brain finally catching up to her. “Mike, wha-” She blurts, confused.

“You got out of the car, looked at this house, and suddenly… suddenly you just… zoned out!” The door had never opened, the witch had never stepped out.

It had all been some kind of strange waking dream.

“Are you okay?”

Bless Michael Hanlon, coming into this group with no idea of who they were with utterly nothing left to his name. Bless him for looking at her with such care and concern in his honeyed eyes and holding her so carefully. He had talked her out of her frantic rage when they had taken Ben, had chosen to get into that car with her despite not knowing a single thing about her outside of whatever Richie had told him.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “I’ll be okay.” She speaks softly, not trusting her voice. “Soon.”

Once they had Ben back.

Once they had this demon back in hell.

They make their way to the door and she lets Michael knock, not quite trusting herself. It’s strange. Even without Ben there should be some kind of response, an awareness to the building that only perked up around other supernatural beings. But it sat there, completely dead.

Dead…

“Oh no.” Bev breathes, the realization hitting as quick and hard as a whiplash.

She puts her hand on the knob and turns it, feeling the last of Ben’s magic inside of her jimmy the lock before letting them in. She can feel Mike staring after her but there’s no time to explain. “C’mon.” She calls over her shoulder before charging through.

Gray. Gray gray gray. Not a spot of color to be found except for _gray_. “It should have collapsed, they should have… should have sent the council…” She speaks to herself hurriedly, trying to make sense of what was happening. Mike comes up behind her, looking up a the dusted ceiling rafters, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “How in the hell is this place still standing?”

“Because, girl, It didn't want you to coming here to use my portal.”

The same witch from her daydream (day nightmare, more like) appears and stares back with milky white eyes and gray, gray, gray skin, see through as Eddie was at twilight and dawn. “But things don't always work out the way we want, now do they?"

-

He knows this girl.

He’s sure of it.

The moment their eyes met he couldn’t look away. It was odd too, because something in his heart keened for a moment before it suddenly gave way, leaving only a strange fondness behind. Like he ought to love her in another way, a more personal and private way, but his body hadn’t been made for it.

Hadn’t been made for her.

She swallows and narrows her eyes into dangerous slits at him. “No.” She spits out. “I don’t.”

Don’t lie, he wants to tell her, but what reason does he have to say that to a complete stranger? He shifts his weight onto his right foot, then his left. “A-Arh-are you sure?” He says just a bit softer, hoping she’ll take the hint. 

She gives a slight pause and her girlfriend notices it, pulling off her straw to stare up at him. “I’m with Audra like, all the time sweetheart, and I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.” There’s a question in her eyes though, posed and at the ready to be asked. “Maybe you’re thinking of someone else.”

“You sayin’ my Billy is dumb?” Richie slides up behind him and of course, Uriel follows as well. Bill gives him a look. He had told them to stay at the table and of course, neither of them had listened. “Because Bill Denbrough is anything but dumb.”

Something causes the plates and cups to clatter on the table and it takes a full seven whole seconds for Bill to realize it had been Audra’s knee coming up to hit the underside of the table. She has a knife clenched in her hand, shoulders bunched up around her ears, murder in her eyes…

Maybe this _had_ been a bad idea.

“I’m just saying he’s confused.” Kay picks up her own knife and levels it at Richie, infinitely more casually with her gesture. It’s just a butter knife. Even if it’s made out of metal. Just a butter knife, Bill. “We do travel around a lot though, don’t we baby?” Kay leans into her, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah. That we do.” Audra bites out, the complete opposite to her girlfriend, sour instead of sweet. 

“So much to do, so much to see.” Richie says under his breath. “Bill, you get that one… that was like, a Shrek reference-”

“B-beep beep, Richie.” He sighs under his breath, not in the mood.

Thankfully, Richie gets the hint, a sheepish “...noted...” leaving him before he officially shut up.

He feels Stan at the ready behind him, as if he knows something feels off too. But what, and how? How had so many new people come into his life so quickly?

Just what in the hell was happening to Derry?

It was that god damn demon.

“W-well suh-sorry bout th-that.” Bill gulps out. “Muh-muh-my mistake. But wuh-well… Welcome to Duh-Derry.” He holds his hand out, a peace offering, a hopeful action of sorts.

Audra stares at it like it’s a weapon, his own poised butter knife. She releases hers and extends hers warily, slowly…

Their fingers touch and Bill sees her as someone else, but not.

He sees himself too, but not.

(but not but not but not)

Silver wedding rings and flashing lights, her red hair and his, the feeling of bike handles under his hand, her weight leaned into his.

“HI-HO SILVER!” His other self, his not self, screams bravely and valiantly, against the dying of the light.

She looks at him in a new light in the diner, lashes fluttering over her dark brown eyes.

“Audra.” He whispers.

“Bill.” She breathes back.

And like a key in a lock, the moment clicks and stays.


	15. Chapter 15

Well, this is weird.

Audra’s girlfriend must have the same train of thought because she’s leaning over with this worried look on her face, brows pinched and eyes narrowed as she looks between her and them. “I thought you said you didn’t know him.” She says to Audra. It’s not an accusation though, it’s this breathless kind of surprise-shock voice, borderline hopeful.

“I don’t.” Audra insists, but Richie can see how her gaze flickers between Bill and the door. This conversation is a nose dive, a plummet into the unknown.

“She’s not lying, she just doesn’t know...” And now, of course, Stan’s talking and making everything into nonsensical nonsense. Richie covers his face and groans, letting his head drop to the floor. “What?” The angel huffs.

Poor Bill’s still shell shocked as he looks at Audra, so Richie comes to the conclusion that _he_ has to be the one to do something about this awful mess since no one else can. Typical. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning.” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m Richie, and this is Stan, and that’s Bill but apparently you already know that.” Richie leans in, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “And _how_ exactly do you know that again?”

“I don’t know.” Audra says through gritted teeth, anger growing. “Why’s your town so fucked up?” She asks instead.

“My town!” Richie exclaims, throwing his arms up and out. Derry didn’t belong to anybody. It was it’s own wild, untameable beast. “Or _your_ self righteous opinions, miss Audra?”

She doesn’t like it when he says her name, he can tell, because he wields it like he would with the fae, precise and damning, unavoidable.

“Sh-she’s right.” Bill finally breathes for what may be the first time since their hands touched. “Duh-Derry is…”

“Now what the fuck is going on over here?”

Bill sucks in a sharp breath, the whites of his eyes showing as they widen in horror. The wolf in him bristles immediately, trying to place the scent of the other, ready to tear into whoever it is. He turns and finds Uriel and Bill facing down Henry Bowers of all people. He looks just like his dickbag father, smiling a grim smile and looking ugly as sin. Wrong, the wolf barks, already eager to tear into him if he so much as blinks the wrong way. “Ladies, are these assholes bothering you?” It’s not a question. It’s an offer, one that begets Henry’s own self righteousness and importance.

What a fucking prick, Richie can’t help but think.

Neither Kay nor Audra seem to know how to respond, but Audra’s clearly getting fed up the longer this goes on. Richie rolls his eyes and shoulders, taking a step towards Henry, not impressed. “You gonna play white knight bud?” Emphasis on the white, he very nearly adds before an internal ‘beep beep!’ that sounds a lot like Eddie keeps him from doing so. Still, Richie’s certain the other boy was paler than him and Bill _and_ Bev combined...

“Drop the attitude, outsider.” Outsider. Henry nearly spits the word out like it’s a slur, his chapped lips taking to the shape and sound of it with practiced ease. Outsider. Not of this world. Other. There’s an implication there that Henry Bowers has no right knowing, but it’s still dirty and wrong coming from his mouth no matter how you spin it. “You just show up here back in January and hang around with that freak Hanscom all hours of the day. That’s how you get a reputation.” Henry pokes him then, right in the middle of his chest, and it takes everything in Richie not to snap that finger in half.

“Okay, you can all stop acting like we aren’t here anymore. Christ.” Audra is up in an instant, shoving her way past Bill and him. “I’m over this.”

“Wait, Audra! Baby!” Kay calls after her before standing as well. “The bill-!”

Bill flinches at the accidental use of his name and Richie nearly laughs before reeling himself back into the moment. How had this gotten so sideways and twisted so fast? With Henry is still up in his face, Kay and Audra out the front door (going, going, gone, the bell ringing after them) he’s this close to snapping, damn it.

Absently, another part of him wonders how Bev was doing with Mike, and then Eddie, all alone in that dying house… Just how long would it hold up without Ben? How long can Eddie exist without his magic? They had to figure this out, and fast, and this asshole is waiting their time.

“I’m going to need you to take a step back.” Richie informs the older boy in the most polite voice he can manage, not sounding that polite at all. “Please.”

“Or what?” Henry decides to challenge him instead, deciding to be a real bitch.

“Oh G-God.” Richie hears Bill moan moments before his fist finds Henry’s face.

He doesn’t know everything about Henry Bowers. Hell, he barely knows anything at all, but he had seen the way Bill flinched when their paths crossed, the way he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again, as if he could will the other away on a wish... That was a learned fear, something that had stayed with him for years on end, and Richie couldn’t stand it anymore.

“ _I’m gonna kill him._ ” The wolf had said the last time he had seen Henry.

It seems as though it’s finally time to make good on that promise.

Henry doesn’t go down, but he does fall back three whole steps before righting himself once more. “Fucker.” He seethes. “You’re gonna get it now.”

The whole diner erupts into chaos. Everything with Audra and Kay had been the lighting of the fuse, the spark, and now this is the explosion in real time. Richie doesn’t have any time to feel bad, and even Uriel can’t catch him in time as he goes flying forward to punch Henry again, all too eager to break the other boy wide open. For Bill, for anyone who Henry had bullied, and maybe a little bit for himself too… to sate the wolf before the moon rose high in the sky tonight.

 _Tonight, tonight, tonight,_ his heart howls in simultaneous agony and delight.

“STOP!” Someone screams, but now Henry’s finally gotten one punch in and the wolf in him is blood thirsty mad. Neither of them really know how to fight, Richie realizes right away, but that doesn’t stop either of them from giving it their all. His lip splits, his glasses go flying (yet again), and then something happens that none of them are ready for.

The slip of a knife into the skin of his side.

Silver, something in him barks. Silver, silver. He shoves Henry away with a choked noise, falling back into Bill and Stan. He can hear the police sirens approaching, and by now everyone has left but them. “Yeah, you like that?” Henry calls out in a saccharine sweet voice, mocking him. “How’s that feel?”

Uriel sees the knife first and sucks in a sharp breath, figuring it out in seconds. “ _Middad_.” He says in a low voice, directing it at Henry. “Now.”

And then another something happens, and again it’s something none of them are ready for.

Henry’s eyes flash demon black before he gives a hellish laugh.

“I think I’ll stay.” He says in a voice that’s not his. One that Richie can’t place in his haze of silvered pain. But Bill apparently can, even as Henry runs out into Derry’s daylight.

“That’s It.” He whispers in a clear, shaking voice. “It’s here.”

-

Ben swears he can feel the world tilting underneath him.

Magnetic polarities, gravity’s push-pull, magic in their own right. There are few things that magic couldn’t claim as it’s own and the movement of the universe is one of them, Ben learned years ago.

“Tell me what to do.”

He knows the Universe doesn’t take kindly to demands, but this is more of a plea than anything, if you had to label it. He’d do whatever it willed if it just told him already. “You know It’s out there, trying to tear you apart.” He tries to reason before giving an awkward pause.

God, what is he even doing? Telling the Universe something it already knows? He sighs and covers his face in shame, feeling his cheeks heat with it. “No wonder you hate me so much.” He speaks into his cupped palms, smothering the words in case anyone is listening in. “I suck.”

The Universe, however, does not hate Ben Hanscom. It’s simply _disappointed_ in the witchling. It had been waiting for greatness, and yet Ben was too wrapped up in his doubts to let it happen. It sighs outwards and the stars turn with it far beyond the coven, swelling with endless light.

The eight points of flame gutter violently before straightening out again, filling the cavern with a dim, warm light, millions of witch hearts thumping around him in unison. Ben can feel himself slipping into it. Not an Eddie slip exactly, where the past awaited him, but instead a slip into the present, deeper into this exact moment in time.

 _‘Are you finally ready?’_ The Universe asks of him as he begins to fall deeper within.

 _‘I think so.’_ Ben answers back after a moment. That isn’t what it wants to hear though. It wants assuredness and certitude, not faltering doubts. _‘What do you want of me?’_

_‘To become what you’re meant to be.’_

( _More, and more, and more_.)

_‘But what about Bev?’_

A girl and a boy. That’s how some stories went, didn’t they? Because love had been something that they had agreed on once upon a time, the Universe and that Other Being known as God, because these creatures deserved it the darkest of times when nothing seemed to be going right, and even when everything was right, because they deserved someone to share that joy with.

But love was also a weakness, and there was nothing the Universe could do to change that.

 _‘I don’t think you are, not yet.’_ He still had to become _more_ . More than his physical shell. More than this, the boy on the floor, his heart too big and his mind too small. _‘But maybe, in time.’_

‘ _We don’t have time though, It’s going to come back._ ’ Ben says, his voice small, scared.

Ah yes, the World Weaver, always hungry for more (and more, and more.) Even now It was leaking back in through the cracks, finding It’s way back into their world despite everything. ‘ _Then you have a choice to make, child._ ’ The Universe tells him before letting him go.

Ben un-slips back into the present, waking world where his fate awaits him. “Bev.” He manages in a broken voice, tears slipping down his cheeks and onto the floor. He doesn’t want to be _more_ , he just wants her and her unwavering certainty in the face of danger.

All he wants is to go home.

-

She’s a ghost, she’s a witch. She’s a ghost and a witch.

Only one of these things should be possible, and yet Mike sees her for who she is, what she is (or therelackof, he supposes.) “How?” He asks when Bev apparently cannot bring herself to do so. The witch cocks her head to the left and drifts further into the hallway, prompting them to follow lest they be left behind.

He puts Bev behind him and takes the lead. It’s as if snow had fallen and aged within these very walls, casting the house into an unrelenting coldness. “We don’t have to do this.” Mike tells Beverly, suddenly worried that they’ve made an awful mistake in coming here. “We can go back.” You. You can go back. The words are unspoken between them but Mike says it in his fireheart.

She shakes her head, curls too bright in the gray of the house. “I don’t want to.” She won’t, she means, speaking her own secret language back to him. Not when they were this close to getting back Ben and making some kind of difference, he suspects. Bev looks at him then, her green eyes dark but glimmering. “You don’t-”

Ah, now she was going to play this game too. “Like I’m going to leave you here alone, Bev.” He chastises her gently, shaking his head.  “We’re in this together now.”

“Are you two coming along or what?” The ghost witch calls after them, causing Bev and Mike to both startle. “I don’t have all day.”

“You think she’d have all the time in the world, being dead.” Mike mutters under his breath, causing Bev to snort. Even now, even in the face of all this strangeness, they could still laugh and the phoenix was thankful for that.

“I heard that, boy.” They freeze and scuttle through the house, whipping their heads this way and that until the ghost leans her way over the railing. “I’m up here, children.”

“This seems suspicious.” Bev calls up to her in a dry voice, putting her hands on her hips. “Like you’re going to lead us into a deadly trap.”

“Why would I waste time on a trap?” The witch fires back. “Goodness, none of you Otherworlders have any manners, do you? Then again, that’s probably your mixed blood, but you-” Her dead eyes flit to Mike and he blanches under the scrutiny. “You’re something else. Something I haven’t seen in a very long time.”

He doesn’t care what the witch sees when looks at him. His biggest concern is how Bev becomes silent and still next to him, her face turning down to the floor. There had been moments in the car where Bev had become drawn and reserved, just like now. Undead royalty, love child of a blood fugue gone wrong. Richie’s words came to him then and now. It haunted her when she least expected it, liking to make itself known in the most surprising of moments as they had made their way here.

Mike can’t stand the sudden hurt in her eyes or the way her entire posture slumps in shame. “If you want us to stay around, I’m gonna have to ask you to talk to Miss Beverly with a bit more respect, thank you very much.” He informs the witch.

Bev’s head pops up with an astounded look on her face which quickly melts into smiling gratitude. Mike can see in that moment why Ben is so enamored with the dhampir. There’s something compelling about Bev that draws you in, like a moth to a flame…

But then again, he’s already his own flame, so maybe that’s why Michael quickly comes to the conclusion that Bev’s like a sister that he’s never had and always wanted, and that he’d kill anyone who dare tried to hurt her.

Ghost-witches included.

The older woman clicks her tongue before gliding back down to them. “Fine. Dhampir and present company, I apologize.” She lifts an ashy brown in Michael’s direction, a silent challenge. “Are you going to tell me what you are?”

“Are you going to help us?” Mike challenges back, not backing down.

“Implying you have anywhere else to go that won’t lock you away the moment you approach their premise if I don’t.” She too is ready to fight, her voice a fine hiss. “You reek of raw power but you are naive, boy.” She draws back and pasues, looking smug. “Was that polite enough for you?”

Bev looks pained and he can feel his own features drawing tight in response. “I’m a phoenix.” He finally says, letting the fire jump to life upon his skin. She gives a tremulous gasp before floating back to them, raising her hands up as if to touch him. “How come you couldn’t tell?”

The house seems to grow colder around them. “Because everything is echoes to me now. That’s what death in this state is. My magic still thrums in my veins, but where are they now, truly? My mouth moves and makes words to speak at you, but can the Universe hear them? Does it even want to? I am dead to it, caught between one state and the other. All because of that damn demon, but you… your flame…”

There was another thing you had to know about ghosts, Michael’s daddy had told him years and year ago, and that was the difference between them and wraiths. Wraiths were when ghosts became twisted up on themselves, unable to move on, their rage so potent it changed them into monsters. That’s what this woman looked like now, her lips pulling back from her teeth, her eyes flying open wide.

Bev sees it too and bares her teeth. “Don’t.” It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“It wouldn’t have come here if not for you. I’m dead because of you.” It is a trap. Of course it is. Mike nearly groans out loud. “Everything went to hell because of that Hanscom brat and now he’s finally going to pay.”

The witch wraith rushes at them, her body stretching itself too thin in the process, and Bev meets her head on. Her name gasps out of him and he can only watch as they slam against one another. “You little bitch!” He hears the wraith howl. “Get off of me!”

“Yeah, right!” Bev shouts back, her eyes flooding black, her fingers twining into the wraith’s hair. “And then what, you kill us!?”

“It’s only fair!” The witch howls back. She sure is sensible for a wraith. Mike’s eyes narrow and he takes a small step forward, his brow knotting with confusion. Bev snaps her teeth and the other woman writhes in response, shoving her hands at the dhampir’s shoulder, trying to get some kind of purchase.

“Just what the hell are you?”

They both stop, thankfully, and look at him like he’s insane. He probably is, but he’s got this gut feeling... “If you’re a wraith you’re talking too much, even with the threats. You’re supposed to be more crazy, unhinged, because you’re stuck in your moment of death and can’t accept the fact that you’re supposed to move on.” He explains, which is weird because he’s basically telling her what she’s supposed to acting like.

There’s a moment of silence in which the witch could very easy tear out Bev’s throat, but doesn’t. “Oh, God damn it.” She mutters irritably before becoming herself once more.

“What the fuck!” Bev shouts, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

The witch looks away, her cheeks darkening with more gray on top of the original gray. Is she blushing? Michael before he stalks up to her, tired of playing games. “Stop fucking around and tell us what’s going on in this house of yours.”

“Fine.” She rights herself up. “I _am_ a ghost, let’s start there, just not your normal ghost. And also I wasn’t lying about not being able to really tell what’s going on anymore. All I am is this… this sliver of soul magic, bound to wander my own halls forever. That demon of yours had every intention of turning me into a wraith, but then the house…”

She gets this look in her eyes. Fascination and gratitude as she reaches out to touch a nearby wall. Her expression turns wistful then. “You’ve been living in a witches house. You know how they are.”

They were an extension of a witch’s self. That’s why Ben’s was so particular yet welcoming, because while his magic was a mess he was still true to himself, and so, so kind. “It did the impossible.” The witch says fondly. “It brought me back.”

They’re one in the same, inseparable now. No wonder everything felt so strange. Mike gives a shake of his head, but there’s no denying what she’s said. A ghost was a lingering will, an attachment to the world one couldn’t shake after their passing, and that’s why they slipped… why Eddie slipped, even when Ben had been the one to summon him into this world. “For you, I assume.” She adds dryly. “A way to get in and get out, to get your precious Benjamin out from the Coven.”

Bev perks up, her fangs showing behind her hopeful smile. “So you’re going to help us, for real?”

The witch sighs. “It wants me to, so I don’t have any other choice, now do I?”

The house, he almosts asks before catching himself. No, she meant something beyond her and her house. She means the thing that drove their purpose, that had brought them all here.

The Universe.

But why? Why them? Why now?

Ancient questions that would have to wait, it seemed, because they had friend to save.

-

Demon.

Demon, demon, demon.

Henry Bowers is not _the_ demon. Not by a long shot. But he’s something _akin_ to It, a vessel to It’s infernal machinations. “It’s been here for so long, seeping into Derry, gotten a hold even when you banished It.” Uriel says in a rush, still suspended in disbelief. His eyes had been pitch, and it was his Father’s first tongue that caused Henry to revolt…

This is bad. Very, very bad.

Richie and Eddie could trade places at this point with how pale the werewolf has become. He’s got blood all over his face and people are starting to stare at them on the too normal streets of Derry, making sense of the distant sirens and their disheveled appearances, connecting the dots. “Ruh-Rich, your side.” Bill chokes out.

“It’ll heal.” He mutters. It would. Even if it was silver the full moon would rise tonight, cancelling it out. Still, Uriel steps close to him and presses a palm against the bloody fabric, doing his best to draw it out. “Oh damn, touched by an angel and everything.” He huffs out a laugh and Uriel smiles despite himself. “Looks like I’m blessed.”

“Not for long with your track record, wolf.” He looks better, at least. It’s a start. “We can’t stay here any longer.” There’s whispers now too, and the intent of approach.

“The se-sew-sewers then.” Bill whispers, catching on. “We’ve wuh-waited luh-luh-long enough.”

They move with purpose and it’s almost funny that none of them take up the lead as they do. They’re three across and command the streets of Derry with shadowed eyes and a sense of Other-ness about them, Bill included. “You know, I may not know anything about Henry Bowers, but it doesn’t surprise me that he’s a meat puppet for that son of a bitch.” Richie says after a bit. “He seems the type.”

Bill let’s out a terse laugh and Uriel’s insides pinch up with it. He hates seeing Bill like this. So on edge and wound up, as if he could break out of his own skin with one wrong move or breath. “He’s a phu-phu-fucking bastard, is w-what.” Bill manages. “Always hu-has b-been, j-juh-just like his d-dad.”

“Patrick too.” Uriel reminds him. Henry had always employed a small number of lackeys to do his dirty work over the years, but Patrick Hocksetter… There was something _off_ about him. Something that had always leaned itself towards wretchedness. “It took… my everything not to harm them, Bill. Please know that.” All those years of watching, holding himself back. Uriel had hated every moment of it, but he had been duty bound, and his heart had not yet dared to rebel then.

But it was different now.

Everything was.

Bill’s eyes drift to his and Uriel is stupidly relieved to see that he’s softened infinitesimally. Bill was… _is_ strong, a force to be reckoned with, but Uriel hates it when those parts of him took a turn for the worse. Bill Denbrough isn’t a berserker, blood thirsty and savage. He’s a paladin, shining and strong.

So why did it seem like this path of theirs was set on turning him into the former no matter what?

“I know.” The human boy touches his shoulder and despite everything Uriel can’t help but think of what it would feel like if Bill _really_ touched him. Pressing his fingers into feathers, sliding past the axillaries that line his shoulder blades all the way to his lesser and greater coverts. He wants it, but not here. He wants it in secret. In Bill’s bed, with the sun hanging low as it creeps through the blinds, like a dying flame…

He closes his eyes and sees it, but something’s missing.

 _Someone_.

“Staniel.” Bless Richie, damn Richie, he can’t decide. The wolf’s snarl pulls him right back in reality, where Bill has moved away from him and looking at him as innocent as can be, not at all aware of the fact that Stan had been thinking of him in ways he shouldn’t- In ways that were not allowed. “What’s the hold up?”

“Just… thinking.” It’s a good thing he’s not fae because lies are all he has in that moment. “It should be obvious but I want us all to stay together when we’re down there.” Could George really be lost in those sewers, trapped by the demon’s strange, lingering magic? Or was something worse awaiting them?

The Kenduskeag is as it should be once they arrive, flowing lazily through the tall grasses and reeds, a shining silver ribbon of life. “I don’t have a sense for these things, but is there magic here?” Richie asks him as they begin to walk the shoreline.

“Yes.” Ley lines always took more kindly to living, breathing things. It didn’t like the manmade, manufactured nonsense that had cropped up over the years. “Lots of it, actually”

Bill follows next, his brow furrowing. “Hey, kuh-kuh-can _anyone_ use muh-magic?”

“Somewhat.” Uriel says at the same time Richie says “yes.”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Uriel shakes his head at the wolf disapprovingly before stepping closer to Bill. “Magic comes most naturally to witches, and to a good number demons, like our friend.” Uriel’s lips twist with a pained smirk. “It’s a perversion when it comes to demons though. They simply take what is there and warp it to their liking.”

“Now, as for humans, there are slivers of magic in each and every one of you. Some bigger than others. You’ve dubbed it luck, or chance.” Things like flipping open to the right page every time, willing street lights to change, calling a coin toss… these were all examples of everyday magic that humans could wield.

Richie is listening now too, his head cocked towards their conversation, his eyes still trained on the water. “There have been humans who have spoken to the Universe, and the Universe gave them a choice. But your bodies aren’t made for that kind of power, even if it’s only being lent for a little while, so they typically live short lives.” They were called saints by some, seers by others, all sorts that had been blessed by magic or heaven sent. It all boiled down to the intent in the end.

“W-Wuh-what about m-me?” Bill asks then in a soft voice.

He had willed the demon away with It’s own blood, after all. The full extent of any repercussions concerning that fact had not yet come to light, but Uriel still was wary of the fact. He takes a steadying breath, closing his eyes. “All I can say is that I ask you never to do it again. For all we know, that’s how Henry fell under It’s thrall.” Those that channeled demonic magics were known to live longer than seers or saints, but by means of corruption and possession, and Uriel would be damned if he let that happen to Bill.

“O-Okay.” Bill says over the hiss-buzz cry of the cicadas, but something in Uriel is almost certain he doesn’t mean it, that he won’t until they’ve found George safe and sound.

Richie’s on the move again and they don’t have any choice but to follow him. _Father, am I doing the right thing?_ Uriel wonders to himself silently as he trails after Bill. _Why is free will so conflicting and strange? Why do I feel so human when I’m anything but?_ His wings ache and he wants nothing more than to free them to the sun and sky, but anyone could be watching them so he doesn’t.

“Christ, you two gonna hurry up or what?” Richie shouts at them, too far ahead for Uriel’s liking. Bill hastens and he’s quick to follow until they find an oversized drain pipe, dark and foreboding as they stare into it’s entrance. “Okay, so I was here first, so I clearly go in last. You know what that means, Stan.” Richie points at him.

He glares at the other boy. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Uh, you snooze you lose, angel boy. Now get in that nasty ass sewer pipe!”

Bill shakes his head with a groan, muttering “b-beep beep” under his breath, but Uriel simply holds his head up high and does just that, not wanting to waste anymore time, and maybe wanting to throw it into Richie’s face too. There’s still enough natural light within the first few steps that he can see trash floating along the surface as the water laps at his shoes, causing his face to screw up in disgust. “Wuh-wait, Uriel.” The human is at his side then, holding his phone up with the flashlight on to light the rest of the way for them.

“W-Well, this is-” Bill starts, trying to sound hopeful, failing quite miserably. “S-something.”

“It smells like shit!” Richie shouts, his voice bouncing down the drainpipe. “Whoops.”

“Beep beep.” He and Bill say in unison before smiling at one another. “L-luh-let’s not try to duh-draw un-nun-necessary ah-ten-ten-tention, yeah Rich?” Bill almost elbows the other before catching himself, stumbling against Uriel with a splash. “S-sh-shudda worn different shu-shoes, d-damn it.” He adds after a beat, and despite being able to will the wetness away on his own person, Uriel can’t help but silently agree.

Even with the smell and the surrounding darkness, it’s strangely calming inside the drain pipe, the water lapping at the sides softly before echoing back to them. “Mike was showing me the blueprints of all this stuff. It hasn’t been updated in ages.” Richie informs them as they slosh their way ahead. “I like it when you humans get lazy. Makes all our lives easier.”

“Many otherworlders, banished or simply rogues, take solace in places like this.” He further explains for Bill’s sake, noting his confusion. “Swelling with magic, hidden away from prying eyes, with little to no technology. You don’t have to cut corners here.”

“So h-huh-hunters…”

“Round up all the illegals. Technically only witch kind are able to exist on this side, and even then they have to abide by a lot of rules to not piss off anyone off. You know, no crazy magic parties, no sacrificing humans… the _ushe_. Mostly they handle demons, but they’ve uh...been known to step on some other toes too.” Richie explains. “So tonight’s gonna be fun, for sure.”

Bill looks pale in the harsh backlight of his phone, his expression fearful. “Kuh-Christ.” Richie waves him off, but that just makes Bill look even more worried.

The water is growing deeper, up to their ankles now as the pathway slants downwards. “Hey, I got a question now.” Richie pipes up, probably eager to direct the conversation away from him and his nearing transformation. “Just what in the fuck were you on about earlier Stan?”

He cocks a brow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“‘She’s lying, she just doesn’t know.’” Richie recites in a terrible impression of him, much to stern sounding. “I’m going to need you to explain, _por favor_.”

He sighs through his nose and scrubs a hand through his curls. “I saw it in her eyes… they were shuttered, but _something_ was shining through them.” He had seen it in them too. Richie and Bill and Bev and Eddie and Ben and Mike. They looked at each other like they had known each other since forever, since always, and sometimes Uriel felt that way too when it came to all of them as well. “The Universe has it’s ways of bringing the right people together.”

They had to know it too. It’s undeniable in their posture, their eyes. Bill’s meet his and hold for far too long, or maybe it’s not long enough. He is yours, and you are his… that familiar track ran through his mind.

But maybe he was meant for all of them, just as they were meant for him.

Something makes a noise further down the pipe and Uriel’s wings burst into existence, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “Get back.” He warns them before slipping into his first tongue. “ _Middad_ .” He calls just as he had earlier with Henry. It would compel lesser beings into hiding, but there’s no guarantee that whatever awaits them is weak. “ _Bir’tzon elohim.”_ By my Father’s Will, he demands.

Between one breath and the next, it happens.

A demon flies at him, bat winged and blind, screaming bloody murder. Richie yelps and pulls Bill back, something that Stan will have to thank him for later, but then he realizes it doesn’t matter…

Because a hundred thousand more are coming at them.

How? How had he not sensed them until now? Now Bill is screaming his name but he’s frozen in place. It’s akin to bearing witness to Legion, each body moving in furious tandem as they barrel towards them. His mind scrambles for a reason when it really ought to be preparing to fight. A portal, an opening between two worlds, a break, a crack…

“Amen.” Uriel says under his breath. Not many people knew that ‘amen’ meant ‘so be it’ in his father’s first tongue. He lips form another word, this one more like wind and fire than actual speech, and relishes the feel of angelic steel in his palm. Amen, amen. He’d cut them down one by one, his grace singing with it, his purpose as a guardian realized. Amen, amen.

His sword tears through the first one and before it can even scream. And then the next, and the next after that too. “URIEL!” He hears distantly, a combination of Richie and Bill miles away from him and this moment as it is. This is how the archangels and the seraphim once fought aeons ago, the cherubim and heavenly chariots too.  His physical form feels like fire, burning any and all doubts away.

Leaving only his true form behind.

“Stan, Stan!!!”

Someone touches him and they can’t because he’s fire and eyes and glory. He blinks them then, every eye that’s peeled itself open across his skin and wings of fire, but then he’s surprised to see that it’s only two, and that he’s still almost human, and that there’s not a demon to be found.

Bill’s clutching to him, his mouth agape. Uriel blinks again and feels his legs go out from under him, the most human he’s ever been in that moment, his hands coming up around the other. “What-?” He starts, only to find that he cannot.

“It’s getting worse.” He hears Richie whisper in horror. “It really is getting inside our heads, Christ.”

That hadn’t been real. Of course, a part of him reasons, that’s why you weren’t able to feel them. But another part, a bigger part, is so sure of it, reeling with the fact that that hadn’t really happened. That he hadn’t slain an army of demons all on his own. Uriel looks at his hands to be sure, certain he’ll find hundreds of golden eyes rolling back at him, but his body is as it should be…

Just what was this demon? How was it this strong?

What had Ben Hanscom truly done?

_Father, what’s going on?_

-

Audra’s hiding something.

Everything that had happened in the park and diner was a painfully obvious indication, even as her girlfriend waved her off, telling her not to worry about it. They were in the motel now, Kay at the desk, and Audra… she’s sprawled out on the bed, her hair covering her face, her breathing slow and steady.

Asleep.

Kay stands up slowly, careful not to make too much noise. She’s never seen Audra like this and it’s making her sick. She wants her strong, beautiful girlfriend back, her partner, her friend.

She wishes they had waited around to talk to that boy. Not the ugly raging one, but the one who’s features were already lined with laughter, who wore those ugly Hawaiian shirts. His friends too. Richie, Bill, Stan. It was like that girl (vampire, Bev, she reminds herself.) Something in her had taken to them immediately, her heart singing with it.

Just what the hell is going on in this damn town?

She isn’t going to press Audra too hard at this point, half afraid that she’ll cause Audra to further splinter. There’s the fact too that she’s not yet ready to reveal Bev’s familiarity to her, and more so that man…

Tom Rogan.

When she had first seen him Kay could have sworn she had seen him in a nightmare once, sneering and screaming, his fists falling upon her over and over again. She had nearly screamed herself when he named himself on that stormy night. It was the exact opposite of seeing Bev, who had sent a secret thrill through her upon recognizing her face and voice. Bad, bad man. He’ll hurt you to get what he wants. He’ll do anything, everything…

When Audra had sent her off to find food she had nearly sobbed in relief, but there was still the fact that she couldn’t bare to be near him. That her body ached like she had carried those bruises over with her into the real world.

“Nightmare on Elm Street bullshit.” She mutters to herself. “You know better than that.”

She fixes the straps of her gear and throws a jacket over it all, not wanting to spook the people of Derry any further. She had heard something before they had slipped out of the diner. Hanscom. What else do they have to go on besides that? Kay scrawls a quick note for Audra and rushes out the door before she can second guess herself.

Now what?

One foot after another. All too many times she had been knocked down during a hunt and her pain had been too much, but that reminder of putting one foot in front of the next, of progress no matter how small, had gotten her more places than she could imagine. Literally, she would joke with Audra, causing her girlfriend to snort no matter how many times she said it.

So she does just that. Takes one step and then another, down the street until she’s next to that god damn crazy statue of Paul Bunyan, the park they had wandered hours earlier off in the distance, visible from even here. “If I were Ben Hanscom, where would I live?” She ponders aloud to herself, completely lost despite her best efforts.

“Ben Hanscom?” A imperious voice asks. She turns and finds a six year old who already looks too smart for his own good. Perfect. She goes down to his level, already smiling. “He’s a freak!”

“Rude.” Kay chastises with no real heat, not wanting to come off as stern and authoritarian, knowing that’ll just scare them off. The child sneers but stays, which is just fine. “You mind telling me about this Ben? I’m new in town.”

“I know. Everybody knows.” He rolls her eyes. “No one ever came here until Ben Hanscom did, and now there’s too many new people. That’s what my mom says at least.” He kicks his foot across the grass, mussing his bright white shoes with grass stains and dirt. “I heard someone call his grandma a witch, but I think maybe they meant she was a bitch.” He pauses, looking up at her with too stern of an expression for someone his age. “Don’t tell my mom I said that.”

The witch. Audra’s words come back to her then, a near repeat of what their superiors had told them. A witch acting outside of the covenant’s conduct. They were one in the same? Of course they were… why is she even surprised at this point. “I won’t if you tell me where her house is.” Kay promises, trying not to sound too eager.

“Well, it’s not her house anymore. She’s dead. That’s what my mom told me last year, but Ben Hanscom lives there now, and he’s got a lot of cats, and the grass is really fun to play hide’n’seek in, even if we aren’t supposed to go there.” He sticks his tongue out between his teeth. “Don’t tell my mom I do that, either.”

She smiles. “Show me where it is and we have a deal.”

It’s not just the boy that shows her, but all of his friends too. Because he shouldn’t go anywhere alone with strangers, he informs her. One girl, the youngest, can’t stop looking at her scar, the twins have a dog that won’t stop threading between her feet, and the oldest one is the sister of the first boy she spoke to, her eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing way that belied her prospects as an eventual hunter, if that way of life ever found its way to her.

“Why do you even want to go to Ben Hanscom’s house?” The girl asks her. “No one likes him but Richie and that girl they hang out with... Whazzer name?”

“Bev!” The youngest girl exclaims, spinning her way down the sidewalk, the perfect little parrot. “Bev-Bev-Bev!”

Bev! A dhampir and a witch spending time together. This just keeps getting weirder and weirder, Kay can’t help but think. Despite that though, there was this growing sense of anticipation inside of her.

“What if I told you I’m trying to solve a mystery?” Kay offers, causing the oldest girl’s nostrils to flare.

“I would say you’re full of shit.” Ah, that’s where the little one got his potty mouth from. Siblings were funny like that. “But we’re here, so I guess I can’t really do anything about it, can I?”

The little boy hadn’t been lying. The grass is nearly knee high, the house slumping over with ivy and moss. Dandelion puffs push their way through the cracks in the concrete and distantly she can hear the sound of a mourning dove from somewhere on the roof. “He only ever opens the door for his friends, and for girl scout cookies…” One of the twins whispers, now holding the dog.

“Daddy wasn’t happy we even came here in the first place, but he bought lots and lots.” The second twin informs her. “...He smiles real nice.” He adds shyly, pressing his face against the dog’s fur.

“Huh.” She still can’t believe that she’s really here. That this is really, really real. “Well thank you, everyone. You all did a great job.”

“We just walked here.” The older sister rolls her eyes before crossing her arms over her chest. “Next time you wanna go somewhere in Derry, you’re gonna have to pay up.”

“Yeah, pay up.” Her little brother adds before letting out a loud and ringing laugh.

“Lil’ shits.” She says to herself once they’ve run off, shrieking joyously all the while. But they were the reason people like her and Audra existed. Humans who didn’t know better, who couldn’t protect themselves against the strangeness of the Otherworld. Being a hunter filled her with pride, with a sense of belonging. There isn’t anything else she could be doing right now, or should be for that matter.

She puts one foot in front of the other and knocks on the door. “Girl Scout Cookies.” She adds after a moment, knowing full well that if this is a witch house that he’ll know she’s anything but. Nothing happens for a full minute and she decides to go for another approach. “Mr. Hanscom, I’d just like to talk with you for a few moments.”

The house groans and Kay looks up at it, shaking her head. “Oh don’t start. I know you’re just trying to protect him, but this is serious business.” She isn’t Audra. She doesn’t shoot first, damn it. “Just let me talk to him-!”

She tries the knob and it opens like that under her hands.

Kay McCall isn’t a witch. Not by a long shot. They tested for that when you underwent hunter training, after all, just to make sure. The only thing they had found out was once upon a time, very long ago, her great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother had been tricked by a faerie when they still walked this world, and that she had just a hint of fae blood in her all thanks to her family tree.

And with fae blood, no matter how weak, came the sight.

It’s the one advantage she has, and probably the one reason why they were so willing to burn the werewolf out of her all those years ago. She was collateral, after all. If she focused long enough she could get a sense for traces of magic in their world, of all different Otherworld types. It was a painful process, probably in part because of how divorced she really was from her fae lineage, but it still worked. She focuses on it now, surprised to see how stale the magic lingering behind the door is. It’s old magic, untouched for a couple days now, fading fast. “Mr. Hanscom, are you present? I’m a friend…”

Something moves above head.

Someone...

She grabs her gun, not quite touching the safety yet. “This doesn’t have to get crazy, I just have a few questions.” Who are you, what is this place, why is this happening…

_Why do I feel like I know you too despite never crossing paths?_

Something comes floating down, too slow to startle her. She just watches as a pillow case spirals its way down, almost laughing at the fact. “Okay, yeah, you got me. Real scary.” She looks up again and focuses her sight, surprised to see a dark haired boy there who apparently isn’t a witch. “Ben?” Just what in the hell is he? He feels like an absence, a lack…

“You can see me?” He whispers back, and that’s when Kay places it.

She’s looking at a ghost.

-

Between a breath and a blink they’re there.

In Canada.

Well, someone else’s house in Canada.

Bev’s mind is still reeling from everything that happened before, in that other witch’s house. A ghost of her own making, by sheer love and will. Would they fade in time, or would they linger on forever and ever as the world turned on? There were so many other between states for all of them that she couldn’t even begin to understand. Eddie was proof of that. He should have come back as a real boy, but they had ripped his soul back into their world and he could only walk the world at night…

“Why can’t things just be simple, Mike?” She asks after a moment. He tips his head down with a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s asking the Universe too much, isn’t it?”

“Exactly, Miss Marsh.”

She eyes the room. There’s a synthesizer in the corner of all things, and scattered music sheets. “I don’t think… we’re supposed to be here…” She says in a slow voice. Portals were usually fixed points, but their witch friend hadn’t been entirely usual, now had she?

“Ya think?” There’s voices downstairs, the sound of a dog running about, laughter. Someone’s name is called and they both make faces at it because of how _weird_ it sounds. “Is that really his name?” Bev asks aloud, unable to help herself.

“No way, that’s… that’s not a real name.” Mike says. Then again, their little group had very basic names across the board. Who were they to judge? “How are we gonna do this?”

“Announce ourselves, clearly.” Bev says in all seriousness before slapping Mike’s arm. “God, don’t make that face at me, like you believed I was being serious-!”

“You sounded serious!” He yelps back. “Looked serious too!”

She opens her mouth to laugh but then stops, because the dog is looking at her. “...Oh, puppy.” She winces despite being overjoyed to see the animal. “Don’t freak out.”

“Rufus?” A voice calls, coming closer as he climbs the stairs. “Goobs?”

“Does the dog… have two names?” Mike says under his breath as the dog begins to wag his tail.

Shit, this is bad. How were they going to explain themselves? “We gotta run.” She whispers.

“Where?” Mike whispers back hurriedly. “There’s four guys downstairs, at least. Maybe more? Plus, the dog!”

Said dog turns in a circle before galloping off down the hallway again. There’s a loud “oomph!” before a joyous laugh follows. “Hey bud! You playin’ hide and seek? You being a silly-willy? A stinky boy?” The man with the strange name voice pitches, sing song and sweet. “Who wants to go for a run? You do! Yes you do!”

“Christ, man, can we go?” A gruffer voice calls from downstairs. Bev’s adrenaline is finally settling and her breath is going normal once more. “Don’t have all fuckin’ day.”

“Grouchy-Meouchy.” The first male hums, causing another one to let out a loud laugh.

The grumpy one groans irritably, solidifying his grouchy status. “Don’t call me that shit off stage, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah but it’s funny.” The laughing boy says, undeniably Canadian. The fourth one is still silent but they’re moving further away, probably towards the door. “We got everything?”

“Mmmyup.” He finally breaks his self imposed silence, his voice soft. “Let’s go.”

The door clicks closed and finally Bev allows herself to fully relax. “Okay, so. What have we learned from this?” Mike asks her.

“What, am I supposed to have some invisibility cloak at the ready?” She shoots back. “Don’t start!”

“I just say next time we fly.”

“Mmm, says the phoenix.”

They look at each other and without warning burst into simultaneous laughter.

It’s weird being inside someone else’s house that isn’t her apartment with Richie or Ben’s. She remembers looking inside of Bill's parent's, realizing how normal it was. This is the same without actually being anything like the Denbrough's. There's pictures lining the wall, a pair of nunchucks on the ground that she just _knows_ Richie would have a hard time passing if he was here, dog toys scattered about. What was it like to live a normal life? To be human, one hundred percent?

Mixed blood… _lesser_ …

She must be making a face because Mike pulls her aside once they’re outside the door, pulling her close. “Hey now,” he says in a soft voice. The weather is colder here, causing her skin to rise with goosebumps, but Mike’s so warm she can’t help but lean into him as the wind rushes past. “What's wrong?”

“Do you ever wish we weren’t this?” Fanged and dangerous, fire wreathed and immortal?  _More?_  They were _more_ than most people could ever even imagine or become in their lifetimes, and what did they have to show for it?

Mike closes his eyes and sighs through his nose, smiling sadly. “What I would give to be normal, Bev, but not in this world. In another, where demons don’t exist. I don’t think I could stand being anything but this in a world like ours.” He touches her cheek and brushes a curl back from her face, his fingers careful and kind. “This is what we were meant to be. It’s what the Universe wanted, Bev. Besides, it’s not just what we are, it’s what we make of ourselves too.”

She looks up and finds him smiling that beautiful smile of his, sunshine and chocolate, sweet and good. The dhampir hugs him then, wrapping her arms around him tight. “I’m so glad you’re with us, even if the consequences that brought you here weren’t right.” She whispers against his shoulder in a tight voice.

He hugs her back just as tight, if not more. “I couldn’t agree more.” He says against the crown of her head. “And this is real nice, but I think we should put it on hold, at least until we’re not in front of this poor man’s house anymore.”

Right! She snorts and untangles herself. If she wasn’t what she was, then she wouldn’t be able to save Ben, right? Everything happens for a reason, Marsh.

Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SO FUCKING SORRY FOR THE DELAY. But people still apparently read this shit, so it's gonna keep being written, because guess what I LIKE IT TOO. I'm just very busy with e v e r y t h i n g.
> 
> also that part near the end was very self indulgent forgive me COUGH COUGH


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one's gonna be big, I promise.  
> Once again thank you for your infinite patience and love, it means everything to me y'all

Eddie stares at the girl.

She stares back.

Neither of them move.

She can see him.

She can see him!

Something tears out of him. Something like a sob, he realizes, because this should be impossible. But her eyes are so wide and her eyes are wide and round with thousands of questions as they look at him. Him and him alone.

“How?” There was so much time between that first question and the next. He nearly falls down the stairs as he tries to get closer to this strange girl only to watch her startle back. Eddie comes up short, forcing himself to stop. Don’t scare her off. Don’t be a real ghost, for the love of God, don’t. “I’m sorry, this is just-”

“It’s impossible.” She supplies. “Trust me, I get it.” She adds, wincing sympathetically.

Then how? He takes the next step closer, watching her the whole time. Her posture relaxes but she still watches him like a wounded animal, one wrong move away from bolting out of his life forever. Who is she? What is she, the more important question poses itself silently inside of his brain.

“I have the sight.” She finally answers back, seeming to read his mind. Her brow twinges and she draws in a sharp breath. “I have to focus to see you, but I can. Why are you so…”

“Calm?”

She smiles, almost laughs, seems to catch herself before she does. “That.”

“I’m not like most ghosts.” He can feel his own smile stretching infinitely across his face. “We can trade off, if you want. If we go somewhere with dust, I can write you a message.” Her brows jump now instead, surprised by his answer. Not like other ghosts indeed. “It takes a lot for me to do it too. Until night time, that is.”

“What happens at night time?”

Eddie pushes his hair back, feels his giddiness grow. “I become _real._ ”

Now she’s really staring at him like he’s out of this world. With Bill there had been disbelief and then regret at his reveal, realization of the context his ghostly body was contained to, but this girl is a stranger. She didn’t ever know Eddie Kaspbrak as he was. Only as what he is in this moment, a shadow impressed onto the world, a something that ought to be nothing…

It’s a strange relief, in a way, to be no one to someone, even if it’s just for a little while.

She offers him a shaky nod, stepping closer finally. “Okay.” She says once. Then says it again, more for herself than him, he knows. “I’m Kay, by the way. Kay McCall.” She presents her hand before pulling it back, looking embarrassed on her own behalf. Eddie laughs, takes a step closer of his own.

“Edward Kaspbrak.” He introduces himself. “But you can call me Eddie.”

He doesn’t take her to the kitchen, because there’s still a bits and pieces of the table Uriel and Bill decimated in there. They go to the main living area instead. Kay observes everything casually, her eyes dragging from one end of the room to the next. There’s dust gathered up on top of the coffee table in front of the couch, which couldn’t be more perfect. “You sit there, and I’ll be here, and just let me know when you’re ready to switch off.”

She gives a firm nod before flopping down onto the couch. “Deal.”

Immediately her gaze becomes unfocused, looking through him instead of at him. Eddie presses his fingers against the woodgrain in response, focusing all his energy into the very tips, tracing them over and over until words begin to form. WHY WERE YOU LOOKING FOR BEN?

She lets herself be amazed for only a moment before collecting herself. “Not necessarily Ben. Just a witch, acting out of the covenant.” She explains.

Eddie tilts his head and really studies her then. When she had walked into the house she had seemed small and unassuming, but now he sees the scar that runs down the side of her face, the staged casualness of her posturing. Something in her is drawn taut, an arrow waiting to be loosed into the world, posed to strike an unsuspecting target. Werewolf? He wonders to himself. No. That doesn’t quite fit. “Apparently Ben?” She ventures when he doesn’t respond.

His head begins to throb as he starts to write back in response. HE’S NOT HERE. Better to leave it open ended instead of giving her the whole story.

“Hasn’t been for a little bit, am I right?” She doesn’t look smug when she lobs the answer right back. In fact she looks pained, a tight grimace breaking out across her pixie features. “The sight… I could see how stale the magic was when I came inside. I think that’s why I could even get in in the first place, I’m pretty sure.”

“Great.” Eddie mutters to himself, rubbing at his temple. If someone like Kay could get in, that meant they were absolutely fucked if the demon decided to pay them a visit. He licks his bottom lip and sighs, giving himself a moment to think, to collect himself before he goes any further.

“There’s something… something really, really weird going on here. Are you ready for a break, because it would help to see you when we talk about this.” Something in the girl’s voice causes him to look up, his eyes narrowing. That calm she had been exuding is gone, replaced with her earlier skittishness. Eddie nods and then catches himself, realizing she can’t see him (at least, not yet.)

GO FOR IT. It would help his head anyways.

Kay leans forward, her gaze turning momentarily unfocused before she’s looking at him again. “Ever since we got here, we keep meeting these people I feel like I ought to know. Even you.” A hysterical laugh bubbles out of her, surprising her and him. “And Ben, who I haven’t even met, and those guys at the diner, and the vampire girl.”

Kay laughs again except it isn’t a laugh. It’s a half choked sob sound, like it’s not quite sure what to make of itself. Vampire. Bev. There’s no one else but her like that here. “And my girlfriend sees it too. I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t make any fucking sense. It just doesn’t! I’m a hunter-!”

Hunter.

Everything else she says doesn’t matter because all Eddie can think of is the way Bev and Richie looked at each other as she spoke that word into the world only hours before she left. Hunters in Derry. Hunters to find them and gut them and mete out their own justice as they saw fit.

He feels himself nearly slip, gasping with it, the room spinning like a carousel that he’s powerless to stop.

_Where have these people been all my life?_

_People I feel like I ought to know._

Something bigger, bigger than any of them. This girl too? Somehow tangled up with all of them in the demon’s growing spiderweb. World Weaver, he reminds himself. His arm aches but something tells him not to look at it. He won’t _like_ it if he looks. So Eddie stares at her until the scar on her face changes and bruises bloom to life on her skin, until she’s older than she ought to be. He reaches out with the aching arm to touch her, to see if it’s real, only to realize it’s not there.

A true phantom limb.

-

“Canada, eh?”

“Oh you’re awful.”

Mike smiles that sunshine smile at her from under the lights of the TV screens and billboards of Dundas Square. In the growing darkness she can see the CN Tower in the distance, calling to her like some kind of strange metal siren. Ben’s there. Ben’s waiting for you. Ben needs you.

I’m almost there, she tells him in her heart. Just a little while longer.

“I still can’t believe we’re here.” She can’t fault Mike in the slightest. It really is amazing here. It was such a mishmosh of old and new, somehow coming together in the most beautiful of ways, each sight more unique than the last. She can still hear the ringing of the old city hall clock even here, the gibberish of the TV screens lost to her Otherworld ears. “I never thought I was going to leave Derry ever, Bev.”

She turns and finds the phoenix looking simultaneously mystified and reverent, his eyes tracking back up to the constantly streaming ads above head. “I can’t wait to bring everyone here.” He says, his voice growing soft.

“Me either.” She murmurs in agreement. “But Mike-” They’ve wasted enough time here. He understands immediately, his entire posture shifting like a soldier called to attention.

A bit of him, utterly him, still peeks through, impossible to smother. “We’ll get the poutine next time.”

She lists to the side with a soft laugh, unable to help herself. “Deal.”

Every step closer to the tower is a step closer to Ben. They’re so close and Bev trembles with the fact. “So let’s review the plan.” She says in a low voice, hoping that her words won’t shake as well.

“I burn through their wards, we grab him and go.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Bev shakes her head ruefully. But Mike looks determined, unshakeable in a way she can’t be. There was a reason that otherworld creatures like him were coveted, kept away. Able to create their own magic, destroy others, break the rules they thought they had always known. To some they were no better than demons, to others they were gods.

But you could kill a demon.

You could strike down a god.

There’s a part of the plan Mike doesn’t know though. The fact that it may just end up being him and Ben that escape. The fact that she’s accepted being left behind even if they haven’t agreed to it. Ben and Mike were both necessary to sealing the demon away, to ensuring that It never came back again.

She’d stay behind if she needed to. If it meant that both of them could get away.

She didn’t matter like they did, anyways.

“It’s gonna be.” Mike reassures her. “Greta Bowie Keene ain’t gonna know what hit her, Bev. None of ‘em are.”

Bev only laughs in response. That’s what she’s counting on, after all.

It’s so close now, only blocks away. The air feels electric, which has to be the convergence of ley lines across the world. She wishes she had some of Ben’s magic left in her to see them but it’s all gone now, burned away. Eddie would start feeling it soon too, and so would the house. If they stripped Ben of his magic he’d wither away and so would they. “I read the CN tower is the ninth tallest structure in the world.” Mike informs her, seemingly from out of nowhere.

She snorts and digs under her shirt, into her bra, bringing out a cigarette. “Are you gonna just start listing facts so I don’t freak out on you?”

“Is it gonna help?” He reaches over when no one’s watching, lighting the end with a now-flaming finger. They grin at each other, relishing in how forbidden the tiny act is. “Cos let me tell you, I know all sorts of stuff, Miss Marsh.” He says with a wink.

Goodness, what had she done to end up with so many lovely, wonderful boys in her life?

She offers him the cigarette and takes it, coughing only once on the inhale. “Awful habit.” He reprimands her as he hands the cigarette back, but not before taking another drag, smirking around the shape of it.

“Blame Richie.” She throws back. “Like everything terrible in my life, it’s all his fault.”

Mike gives a loud and ringing laugh, so much like the sound of the bells on the sunset sky. “Sounds about right.”

They’re there finally, at the base of the CN towers, all sorts of humans milling about. Taking pictures, entering the doors, going on with their absolutely mundane lives. She takes a quick and hard drag on her cigarette before dashing it to the ground, resolve flooding through her.

We’re coming Ben.

Count on it.

-

Two days, three? The hours pass overhead like a mystery to him in his prison. No one’s come to visit him since Greta had, when she had stared at him with fear and loathing in her sharp little eyes. And that strange dreaming state too, the one where he had heard a ringing voice in his head, more unreal than actually real. He still doesn’t know what to make of it, his thoughts too far away to do so. The candles have gotten so low, nearly touching the floor…

The Coven beats around him, each witch heart beating for the sake of the Unending Cause. Once again, he can’t help but think it sounds like a fog horn, calling out low and eerie across the morning fog.

 _..._ _When the wind speaks and the flame catches, the quiet echo of lost wisdom will return..._

He blinks and looks around, trying to place where the voice had come from. This too sounds familiar. A voice he knows not in his head, but in his heart. It wouldn’t surprise him if he’s hallucinating at this point. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t really slept completely since they put him here.

“January embers.” He mumbles back, because it’s the only response he can offer up. “My heart burns there too.”

The flames of the compass rise up and dance in turn, writhing frantically before his very eyes. Ben ought to be afraid but he’s so tired. So damn tired. Maybe it’s Mike. Maybe the phoenix had come to save him. He reaches out to the northernmost point, lashes fluttering, unable to register the feel as his finger tips begin to burn.

“Oh, honey no.”

“Mom?”

She’s there at the edge of the circle, her eyes large and wet in her pale face. He pushes up onto his arms, nearly slipping before finding his bearings. “Mom.” He rasps, louder until she brings her finger up to her lips.

“It’s me baby. I’m just projecting though.” Ben hasn’t seen her in so long. The only message he had sent her since he had left home was that her mother had died. When he hadn’t gotten a response he had let himself fall back on the safety net assumption that the demon had hidden the letter from her. Better than her seeing it and ignoring it, ignoring him.

She gives him a watery smile, tears spilling over. “I got your letter. It just showed up in my mailbox like magic a few days ago.” Oh, thank God. He feels his own lips split into a weak smile, the dryness of his lips cracking with the action. “And then news that there was going to be a trial. I just… I knew something was happening, even if they didn’t want me to.”

“I did something bad.” He manages in a hoarse voice. “Something really, really bad mom.” She shushes him again, casting her eyes about the room before at him once more.

“Don’t say anything else. They might be listening.” She tells him, her voice tight with worry, the words rushing out of her. “They can’t see me or hear me, so you need to just be quiet for a bit more and let me talk, okay sweet boy?”

He nods and settles back down. It’s almost like he’s a little boy again, his mother telling him a bedtime story before he drifts off into a dreamer’s dark. “There’s a lot of things I didn’t tell you Ben. Didn’t know how to tell you. And I still don’t if I can right now. It’s better if you don’t know when you go into this.”

He blinks up at her and her image wavers, becoming more see through. Like Eddie, he almost laughs before remembering what she said moments before. “You’re stronger than you think. That’s the most important thing to remember, Ben. Stronger than any of them could ever imagine. You got that?”

A door opens in the distance and Arlene’s head whips around before she looks back at him, her fingers reaching out towards him. “I love you, Ben. I love you so much, and I promise I’m going to tell you everything. Just hold on a lil longer, alright?”

But how? He was trapped here. He was nothing…

_You’re stronger than you think._

_(Are you ready to become what you’re meant to be? More, and more, and more?)_

She fades away on a sigh before he can touch her.

Before he can ask.

Someone else takes her place minutes later. Greta. “Fancy meeting you here.” He laughs before he can help it, apparently eager to channel his inner Richie. His fingers hurt, his head too, and for the life of him he can’t think straight. All Ben wants is this to be over with. The other witch rolls her eyes before she steps over the circle once more, nudging him onto his side with her foot.

“I can’t wait for this to be done and over with.” He almost laughs as she growls the words out, astounded as she speaks his earlier thoughts out loud. “No one’s been able to get any work done ever since you arrived here.”

Was anyone going after the demon? Did they care? Could they? So many questions, not enough time. Her fingers were quick on his wrists, spelling them together with soft words under her breath. Greta’s fingers touch the corners of his lips then, sealing them together. “When your turn comes to speak, the spellwork will be undone. Not that that’s going to do you any good, anyways.” She rolls her eyes, smiling a nasty smile at him. “You’re a dead man walking, Benjamin.”

Think of your mom, think of Bev. You have to be better than this, Ben. You are, you are. Eddie too, and Mike, and Richie and Bill. All of them needed you to figure yourself out.

“Greta.” A soft voice greets them the moment they exit the chamber. “Is this him?”

She pauses for only a moment, apparently not expecting their new friend. “Arthur.” She releases the tension in her body with a low purr, her smile too sweet as she decides to ignore his question. “Done playing with your human friends?” She opts instead.

Ben looks up, up, up to see a tall man with dark hair and light blue eyes staring down at him. He crosses his arms, leveling Ben with a most impressive cock of his left eyebrow. “He looks soft.” He too, it seems, could play the no-answer game of Greta Bowie-Keene’s.

Soft. Is that how he came off to everyone else? His grandmother had called him soft too, Ben remembers, but not in the same way Arthur had. No, hers had been with a curled lip and a glare of disgust, hating him for the fact. This stranger, Arthur, had said with fondness, with worry.

As if ‘soft’ was another word for ‘human.’

As if he needed to be taken care of instead of watched.

Greta gives an irritable sound, tossing her curls back. “Trust me, we’re all going to be finding out _everything_ about Ben Hanscom today. We’ll see just how soft he is. Now if you’ll excuse us.” She pushes past him, not even waiting for the older male to move. “That damn Doyle.” Greta mutters, back to talking to herself after they’ve put all kinds of space between them and him. “With his stupid friends. Gallivanting across the country, always missing meetings…” Someone important, it seems, and quite possibly on his side.

Ben can’t help but smile behind Greta’s spell. Maybe things were looking up for him, after all.

Unhurried steps catch up to them and just like that Arthur’s there again back in their lives, apparently not put off by her little tantrum. He has the look of a witch about him. The dark, tumbling hair, the sharp profile, the stubble scruff across his jaw. Mysterious. Unlike anyone Ben’s ever seen before. Maybe it’s just because he’s older than anyone he knows, seemingly more in control. “You know, taking a holiday would probably do you wonders, Ms. Keene.” He tells her in a cool voice.

“Oh yes, let me just drop all training and go do whatever I want.” She seethes back hotly, not having it. “You’re nearly thirty, Arthur.”

“And?” He throws back, unimpressed by her triade, smirking now.

“And!” Arthur’s smirk shifts as their eyes meet, turning into a smile. Ben finds his own breaking out across his features, struggling to keep it hidden away. “Making a career with humans on an ‘extended holiday’ is not what the Universe intends for you.” Greta snaps harsly, grabbing the older man’s attention once more.

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “The Universe speaks to each and every one of us in different ways.” His eyes cut to Ben once more, softening. “You understand, don’t you Mr. Hanscom?” Did he ever. Ben offers the other male a nod, causing Greta to gape at both of them.

“Arthur!” She shrieks. “Stop this at once! He’s a criminal.”

“He’s a boy, Greta.” Arthur offers him an encouraging smile. “One that’s got my support.”

Something inside of Ben takes flight at Arthur’s words. It was all too easy to feel like he was all alone here. These weren’t his people. This isn’t what he knew. He knew Derry, the North Eastern squalls, the unhurried way of living everyone had there. These politics and machinations of the Coven, he would never grasp them. Never wanted to if he’s being honest with himself.

But here was someone else, someone older than him, years along in his magic, reassuring him that somehow, everything was going to be okay…

Greta releases him with no warning, spinning wildly on Arthur like a deranged top. Ben notices the other differences at that very moment. Greta’s done up in ceremonial black with elemental symbols drawn across her sleeves, whereas Arthur’s got faded jeans, a bomber jacket over some nondescript logo shirt. He looks relaxed, human, whereas Greta’s bristling and every bit a witch. “You are a disgrace.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, the essence of a spell coiling up her arms as she nears the other man. “Just like this one!” She points a judging finger at Ben before turning it back on Arthur. “Just like every one of you who’s going native, slumming it with otherkind. I cannot wait for this trial because after this, everything changes-!”

“Greta!”

Someone new has entered the conversation from seemingly nowhere, scrutinizing them with dark brown eyes, her hair flowing and curling down her back.

“Patricia.” Greta gulps.

“Patty.” Arthur says in turn, inclining his head in some kind of half bow.

She doesn’t look at either of them, she only has eyes for him and him alone, which is odd because he’s used to people ignoring him, now no one can look away, it seems. “Benjamin Hanscom, merry meet and _shalom_.” She smiles and it’s a beatific thing. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

It’s then that her face, her voice, her _presence_ comes together in his head. The current Maiden of the Witches Coven standing before him in the flesh. Not just that but speaking to him too! Ben tries to say something back but Greta’s spell holds strong in response, keeping his mouth sealed shut. Patty blinks and gives a birdlike tilt of her head, frowning as she comes to understand.

Wordlessly her fingers light upon his lips at the center and when she pulls them away he can tell the spell is gone.

Power. This is what true power looked like, felt like… One of the few people the Universe bent itself over backwards for willingly. It feels familiar in a way, something he had nearly had for himself before everything spiraled out of control like it always managed to do. With the demon, with Eddie, with the tracking spell...

_You’re stronger than you think..._

“Merry meet!” Ben gasps out, voice trembling as her magic continues to coarse through him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

She laughs gaily, clapping her hands together in delight. “I’m almost certain I’m younger than you, Benjamin. No need for that. Call me Patty, or Pat! I’m easy.”

Greta looks downright abhorred. “Patricia, this is very unorthodox-” She starts in a panicked voice. “The Mother and Crone will be very upset if they learn you saw Ben before the trial.”

“Greta, Greta.” Patty sighs over her, her face made up of silent sympathies as she cuts her off. “I told you, you’ve been spending too much time with those two biddies. They’re just _khnyoks!_ Nothing better to do than complain and get worked up about matters that… well, don’t matter!”

Greta has her head in her hands, tugging at her curls as she draws in several sharp breaths, halfway to a panic attack. “I just wanted to get a look at our friend before everyone made him out to be something he’s not. And as always, it’s a pleasure to see you, _chaver sheli_. How is that tiny human of yours? All of them?”

How different these two are from Greta. Even Patty done up in virginal, flowing white, the same elemental symbols tattooed into her arms in gold and white is somehow more approachable than the other girl. “It’s a mixed bag. I think everyone’s ready to move out West. But we can talk about that later.” He winks then, stupid satisfied. “Maybe get you to a show, too.”

“Oh I’d love that!” Patty trills, clutching her hands to her heart, causing Greta to whimper in dismay. It’s almost hilarious in a way. Something his own friends would do. God, he misses them, Ben realizes in that moment. Misses Richie’s loud mouth, Eddie’s sharpness, the way Bev smiled at him, newcomers Bill and Mike too. “But yes, yes. We unfortunately have to get going. Get all this nonsense done and over with.” Patty reaches out and grabs his hand, shooting another thrill of power through his veins. “The sooner we can, the sooner we can focus on the demon.”

She knows. Ben nearly collapses in relief as she voices his fears. She sees it and reaches up to touch his cheek, cool fingers cupping his skin. “Yes, I know, Benjamin. Not the whole story, but enough. I eagerly await your recount.”

Patty’s gone in an instant, between on blink and the next. He looks to Arthur quickly but finds the other indifferent to the fact. So she could just do that. “Holy shit.” Ben says before he can help himself.

He’s not sure if it can get weirder.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for it to.

-

The sun is setting when they finally stumble back out into the real world once more.

How, Bill wonders. How had the day gotten away from them so fast with almost nothing to show for it? More illusions, more things that disappeared between their fingers like smoke. His phone is heavy in his back pocket, tempting him to look at it, see how many calls he’s missed…

Richie growls deep and low in his throat and Bill skitters back a step, all too aware that the moon is close to rising up into the sky. “Company.” He manages, voice guttural as he places himself between Bill and whatever threat nears.

Uriel too steps forward, standing tall and proud, heat pooling off of him even from here. Don’t be Henry, don’t be Patrick, don’t be the demon... Bill hopes and prays.

It’s something worse than any of them.

It’s the god damn police.

“Well, look at who it is!” That same cocky one, the one who made fun of his stutter, leers down at them. “We’ve been looking for you, Denbrough. Your daddy wants you back home.”

Looking for him, instead of Georgie… “I-luhl-luhl cuh-call him muh-myself.” Bill spits back. He can’t go home now. Not with hunters on the loose, not with Richie nearing his shift. Not with Stan here and even more mysteries to unveil.

“I think it’s just better if you come with us.” His partner in crime has his own ugly sneer on his even uglier face. “Save us the trouble.”

“He’s twenty one, dudes. He’s not obligated to go home.” Richie snarls before looking back at them, becoming human in an instant as he blinks in confusion. “...Right?”

“I’m not familiar with your laws, but you are a legal adult, Bill.” Stan says in his own quiet voice. “One would assume…”

“Listen, Bill, save your parents the heartache and just come with us, alright?” The first one calls down to him. “We don’t need two Denbroughs missing in Derry, alright?”

What’s he supposed to do? They can’t arrest him, right? But what if they can? What if he has to wait for his parents to bail him out. His dad would definitely let him stay in there a few days to “learn a lesson” if he’s being honest with himself, if they’ll let him.

And based off their smug expressions, it’s more than likely.

Bill casts them one last look. “B-Be guh-good.” He tells Richie, causing the other boy to let out a wild laugh. “Eye-yi-yi m-mean it, Rich!”

The werewolf rolls his eyes. “You’re leaving me with Stan, Billy-Boy. I think I’ll be just fine.” In turn, Uriel’s mouth pulls, but there’s a hint of a smile there… Their eyes catch and the angel nears.

“If anything happens, I’ll be at your side in an instant.” His eyes track to the two policemen before finding Bill’s once more. “Just call my name, my _true_ name.”

“Uriel.” Bill says before he can help himself. He reasons it’s to make sure he’s capable of doing it without fucking it up, but then he sees the way the other’s nostrils flare, the way his chest rises with it. Like it’s not just a name to him.

Like it’s a proclamation.

Hosanna in it’s highest.

Uriel swallows thickly, a very human gesture. “Yes, like that.” With that, he steps back, away from Bill, taking his magnetic pull with him, leaving the human feeling loose and lost in his own gravity.

“You done down there?” Bill finally forces himself to move. He takes the hill, but only once he reaches the top does he look down at Uriel and Richie once more. The Kendeskaug is soft now, glittering as it catches in the fiery sunset. Richie raises his hand in a salute, and Uriel…

Uriel stands there, so still he could be a statue with his porcelain skin, the illusion shattering when his curls catch on the wind.

“Ain’t got all day, Denbrough. Time’s a wastin.” It was wasting. There simply didn’t seem to be enough in the day to get anything done. Is this what it was liking being Eddie, Bill wonders. Trying to make every second count? Trying to fill it to the brim when in reality there was almost nothing you could do?

“D-duh-did you find out an-nen-nenithing?” Since last time, about Georgie. He doesn’t want to really speak to them, remember all too well their mockery of his damn stutter from before.

The ugly schmuck turns sympathetic, something Bill assumed wasn’t possible for someone like him. “It’s like magic, kid. He really just up and disappeared. It’s hard too here because well, you get it, you’ve lived here you’re whole life. It’s Derry. We’re ten, fifteen years behind everyone else. First few times we did an Amber Alert for ‘im it almost didn’t issue.”

Magic, impossibilities, fuck ups. The demon. He clenches his right hand, feeling the scar tense back in response. “But we’re working on it, and yous don’t gotta. I know you’re worried, but really… we’ve got it handled.” Is he being malicious or well meaning? Bill can’t tell. The only people he can trust now are his friends.

The other one is waiting in the police car. There’s something funny about the fact that he’s going to be sitting in the back of a squad car for no better reason than they’re just taking him home. Other kids his age, younger even, were getting into real trouble… or maybe the word he’s looking for is normal trouble.

“I ju-just…” Bill starts at the same time he stops. His feet refuse to move, but his voice is an ocean’s roar, demanding to be let out. That’s my little brother. I love him. He had raised him as much as his parents had. He had been there for more than they had, really. For all the secrets, for all the things parents couldn’t know. The pinky swears, the R rated movies, the nightmares and bed sharing that would follow. Each new year where they would stay up as their parents slept on, grinning at each other in the light of the ball drop, the world endless before them as it began fresh once again.

“I can’t.”

He can’t just leave it. Can’t let someone else shoulder this responsibility. It’s his and his alone. Their both looking at him and something in their faces shift. They become leaner, crueler…

 _Demonic_.

“Uriel!” He shouts before they can move and there’s the sound of wings all around him, of laughter ringing out across the earth and sky.

“That didn’t take long at all, Bill.” The angel whispers before the world turns into nothing and they’re gone.

-

She breathes in.

She breathes out.

Eddie’s not himself anymore. He’s years older, ages, worn out, bloodied and missing an arm. A premonition? A warped echo? A mirror image, except of someone else. “What’s happening?” She whispers. Her own body aches, so much like in that dream with Tom...

And then a hundred other things happen.

The space between them is filled with silver and gold and heat and the sound of the coffee table giving away moments before the air is filled with surprised screams.

“NOT AGAIN!” A familiar voice yelps. “Ben’s gonna kill us! God damn it, Stan, what do you have against tables, man?!”

Kay can still see Eddie, himself once more, his eyes wide as he stares down at the mess. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He covers his face with an embarrassed sound. “Guys!”

“They can’t hear you.” She manages hoarsely, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

And that’s when the other half of the hundred things happen.

She sees them first. Bill, Stan, Richie. The same boys from the diner. Of course they’re tangled up in this. Of course. But before she can open her mouth there’s a sound at the door and that’s when Audra crashes in.

They all stare at each other, Eddie included despite not really being there, before all hell breaks loose.

“Audra.” Kay starts in a quiet and terrified voice, because nothing good can come of this. “What the fuck?”

“I can ask you the same damn question.” Audra manages back breathlessly. “What… what’s happening, why are you here, who are these people?”

Richie’s head pops up. Poor thing’s on his back staring up at all of them, his glasses akimbo, expression dazed. “Well, as I mentioned in the diner, I’m Richie. Nice to meet you ladies again. Although I have a question of my own to ask, what are you doing in our friend’s house?”

How does she answer that one? Can she? Bill groans, rolling out from the wreckage of the broken coffee table. “Christ. Guh-give me a sec. M-my back.”

“My apologies, I miscalculated…” Stan murmurs, shaking debris from his hair.

Richie reaches over and slaps his shoulder, huffing loudly. “You’re an angel of lord, STAN! That’s not allowed!”

Angel. She can hear Eddie screaming at them to stop, flapping his arms as he does, but all Kay can focus on is the word angel. Mal’akhim, messengers. The divine will and fury of God. This boy, fox sly and knife sharp, somehow an angel of the lord? It’s laughable, really, except she’s not laughing.

No one is.

“Fuck off.” Audra says, her voice beginning to tremble. Kay knows that tone. She’s scared, and she’s angry, and together those are two horrible things that will lead to eventual disaster. “That’s a terrible joke.” But it’s not. They both know it’s not. “What kind of angel is named Stan, anyways?”

“His true name is Uriel, if that means anything to you, girl.”

A cat has appeared from seemingly nowhere, as they are prone to do.

But then again, not most cats talk.

“Jesus Christ.” Audra snarls. “What the fuck kind of fun house bullshit is this town made up of, anyways?!”

Okay, time to intervene, before it gets even worse. Before a gun is pulled, or a blade. “Baby, I know this is a lot, but maybe we ought to just let them talk.” Kay begs. Bill’s up now, standing next to Eddie without even knowing it, his face creased with a frown, like he knows what’s going to happen too. “Your right, everything’s been so weird since we got here, but maybe we were supposed to come here. Be here, right here, right now.”

“I don’t know about that.” Richie pipes up, surprising them. He must see their expressions because he’s holding up his hands, giving an awkward chuckle. “Any other day I’d be in agreement, but today is kind of a bad day, if we’re being completely honest with each other here.”

“And why’s that?” Audra presses, still not relaxing, still coiled tight and ready to pounce.

“Because he’s going to shift tonight.” The cat informs them, flopping onto her back, tail swishing back and forth. “Isn’t that exciting?”

A talking cat, a ghost, an angel, a werewolf, two hunters, and Bill.

They really were in some fun house bullshit, it seems.

“I-yi-yi think I need to kuh-call my mom.” Bill pops the bubble of silence that’s suddenly surrounded them with what may be the weirdest thing they’ve heard all night. “Ex-scuh...schuh… p-pardon me.” Even weirder yet is how Audra just lets him pass. She’s shell shocked, Kay realizes. Spinning out, losing control, cut loose from the world as they once knew it and into this absolute clusterfuck.

Eddie’s just there, looking between them with panicked eyes, like a bomb’s about to go off in the room if one of them moves too fast. “Okay.” Kay starts for both her sake and Audra’s. “We ought to officially introduce ourselves. I’m Kay McCall, and this is my girlfriend, Audra Phillips.”

“A pleasure.” Stan (Uriel?) says with a gentle incline of his head. “I am Uriel, Bill’s guardian angel. And this is Richie, and as you are now aware, he is a werewolf. Tonight is uh, the night of his change. So any questions you have for him may have to wait until tomorrow.”

“...I can talk for myself, Stan.” Richie stomps up to the other boy before giving them a lazy grin. “For the third time, I’m Richie Tozier, for the first time, I’m the next in line alpha of the Otherworld werewolf clan. Currently here because well, that’s a crazy long story. Maybe I will let the other fellas tell you that one. And I don’t know if he’s here right now, but we’ve got Eddie too, he’s-”

“A ghost.” Kay says for everyone's sake. “We’ve met.”

“HUH!?” Richie flies at her, causing Audra to explode into action herself. The potential blade makes itself known in that moment, a sleek blur that nearly cuts into the boy only for Kay to grab her wrist at the last second, twisting until Audra drops it.

There’s a scream on the air that belongs to Eddie, trapped between on her and him in that moment. Uriel’s own eyes are wide in his thin face, and Richie…

Richie’s beginning to understand that they’re not just Kay and Audra. Not just two girls randomly in their town.

“Hunters.” The cat huffs. “Of course.”

“Hunters.” He repeats as the sun sets deeper, painting the room darker, letting the reality set in.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [One Lazy Sunday Afternoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17369648) by [doc_boredom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom)




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